


Uncover Your Reflection

by CourageousLlama



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Background Character Growth, Background Relationships, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Farmer fights back, Farmer is an asshole too, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Love Triangles, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past foster care, Romance, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, im grating out tags and no one is saying when, lowkey turns into a songfic sometimes, main chars say the f word a lot, someone say when, well it is but it isn't prevalent enough to add to relationships tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 130,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourageousLlama/pseuds/CourageousLlama
Summary: Shane Robinson hates the new farmer with a burning passion - and even more so when he has the audacity to return the fire that was to supposed to make everyone leave the moody alcoholic be.Then Shane realizes that maybe this hatred is the same one he gives his bathroom mirror.He's a bad actor, but Derek is an even worse liar and isn't life a bitch for closing the curtain?
Relationships: Jas & Marnie & Shane (Stardew Valley), Jas & Shane (Stardew Valley), OC & Sam & Seb & Abigail, Shane (Stardew Valley)/Original Male Character(s), Shane/Male Player (Stardew Valley), Shane/Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 93
Kudos: 183





	1. Venom on Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! For anyone who's read my other Shane x Male Player fic, I'd like to let you know that this one is significantly different, in that this will feature:  
> \- Longer chapters and more chapters in total  
> \- Darker and more hard-headed Shane  
> \- Tweaked heart events  
> \- Lot more attention given to background characters, relationships, and underlying arcs/growth  
> \- A work skin! Using HTML and CSS tools provided by this lovely site, I've created custom page breaks, POV-shift markers, text message and phone call formatting, and potentially more! Without the skin, it is still readable but significantly less spicy. 
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE CONSIDERING PASSAGE OF TIME:  
> This fic follows the in-game calendars to a T. But, as many authors before me have quickly realized, juggling between a 4 month Stardew year and a 12 month real-people year is quite difficult, so allow me to briefly outline the method to my madness:
> 
> \- Mentions of time relating to specific days of the week (e.g. last Friday) or reference number of days (e.g. a few days ago, yesterday, 3 days from now) or number of weeks (e.g. couple of weeks, two weeks) indicate a DIRECT LINE-UP with the Stardew Valley calendar.  
> \- Mentions of time wherein the word "month" is involved is an attempt to paint a couple of weeks of Stardew Time as a little over a month of real-people time. That way, it helps to make everything seem less rushed in our expanded 12 month perspective.
> 
> Once the fic is completed, I think it would be neat if I linked edited photos of the Stardew in-game calendars that were marked/labelled according to the events in the fic - that way you can see how it all lays out and unfolds!

The screeching bus brakes jolted Derek from his light slumber. Swiping the drool off his face with the back of his hand, he grumbled as he got up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He had been what some might politely call a ‘minimalist’ for around twelve years now, so a singular pack with his clothes, toothbrush, phone, and the odd object or two was all he had to his name.

As his beat-up sneakers crunched on the dirt below, he found himself inhaling deeply as the bus pulled away. The air was unbelievably clear and fresh in the valley. _Guess selling your soul to Joja for a decade will have a man appreciating the simple things,_ he thought, idly.

“Derek? Derek Matthews?” He whipped his head around to search for the voice and found a man in brown slacks and suspenders holding a palm over his brow to shield his face from the sun. He squeezed the strap of his red backpack as they approached each other. Derek made sure his long sleeves were tugged down before he reached out for a handshake.

“Yup, that’s me,” he said with a soft smile. The other man took his hand from his forehead and used it to shake Derek’s; firm, kind.

“Pleasure to meet you! I’m Mayor Lewis but you can just call me Lewis,” he chuckled. “Robin is at the cottage, finishing up some minor repairs. You ready to head on over?” Derek simply nodded, and off they went.

* * *

After a lengthy trek, the two men stepped foot onto what was nothing short of a disastrous wasteland. Weeds and grass grew tall and tangled like unruly hair. The trees rose in fortifying clumps, seeming to block out the sky in some places. Not to mention the generous scatter of branches and rocks that begged for an ankle to twist.

“Christ...” he found himself whispering. Lewis turned to him sheepishly.

“Ah, well... it’s been around fourteen years since this land has seen any real care. But,” he clapped Derek on the shoulder. “The blessing of starting over is that you get to make it your own, right?” Derek struggled to see the same caliber of optimism, and it must’ve shown in his face, for Lewis sighed and gestured behind him. “Why don’t we get you settled in, at least?”

Approaching the cottage, Derek could immediately see that this was no immaculate space, either. Some of the shingles on the roof were bright in color, compared to their dull counterparts – suggesting very recent repairs. The porch had a massive hole on the left hand side, which made Derek curious as to why that was skipped. The porch railing seemed sturdy enough, as he shook it roughly with his hand. The front door had some chipped and muddied paint that looked to have been teal at some point. Passing the threshold, the inside was pitifully small. One rickety twin bed sat jammed into a corner. There was a box TV, a small dining table, a cramped bathroom, and a lone hotplate instead of a kitchen.

If anything, it was more like some of the homes he’d lived in when he was in foster care. That thought chilled him and he had to take a sobering breath to remind himself that this was his house, alone; there were no angry drunks, high lunatics, or territorial kids to hide from. He heard a flushing noise and a red-headed woman emerged from the bathroom, holding a wrench in her right hand and wiping the sweat off her brow with the left.

“Plumbing’s fixed!” she chirped. “And you must be Derek! Nice to meet you, I’m Robin.” They shook hands (after the wrench swapped hands so she didn’t use her sweat-soaked one, thankfully) and Derek gave her the same smile he’d given Lewis.

“Thanks, Robin. Dunno what I’d do if I couldn’t shit in my own house.” This earned him a laugh from his welcoming committee.

“Yes, that would be quite a nightmare! Well, I live up the mountain”—she jerked a thumb vaguely behind her—“and I’m your gal for all your house expansions, farm buildings, et-cetera. This repair’s on the house, though, _pun intended_. Consider it a welcoming gift,” she beamed. Derek nodded and admired the apparent work she’d done thus far. He hoped he could rack up enough money soon to at least get a kitchen. Not that he was a stranger to scavenging like some god-awful crow if it came to it.

“Speaking of welcoming gifts,” Lewis chimed in. He walked over to a dresser snuggled up against the ancient TV set and opened a drawer, pulling out a package. “In here are some parsnip seeds to get you started.” Derek’s eyes widened and he tried not to blanch. Obviously, he knew he was moving on a farm. He’d even visited a few times in his early childhood. But he was hoping for a bit more guidance than seeds thrust his way. “In there is also an Introduction to Farming guide that you could probably find quite useful,” he added. Derek nodded a bit too eagerly, probably giving away his inexperience, but deciding not to care too much.

“Thank you both, I appreciate it,” he said as Lewis handed him the supplies.

“No worries!” Robin grinned. “We all loved your grandfather dearly and we’re excited at the prospect of his own flesh and blood reviving his farm! It was truly a staple in this town back in the day,” she mused.

“Yes, and also,” Lewis added with a wag of his index finger, “we are a small town, which means we are a naturally close-knit community. A newcomer is no small news to us, and I’m sure people in town would love to meet you! The most popular hangout spot is the Stardrop Saloon in the evenings.” Robin clicked her tongue at this, letting out a good-natured sigh.

“Lewis, the man hasn’t even dropped his bag yet and you’re already trying to drag him around.”

“Ah- no. No, you’re right,” the middle-aged man conceded. “Take a few days to settle in, maybe plant those parsnips, and hopefully we’ll see you around soon, okay?” Again, he clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and the boy beamed. He adored how friendly they both were, and even looking at the dilapidated scene of the farm, he figured that if everyone were as nice and welcoming, then he could see himself giving this farming gig a real go.

“Yeah, sure, sounds like a plan.” That appeased both townsfolk and they began to make their leave. Robin was out the door first, but before Lewis stepped out, he turned back for a thoughtful moment.

“Welcome home, farmer.”

* * *

Since it was already late afternoon when Derek arrived, he spent his first day unpacking his meager belongings and cracking open the farming guide. He read over how far to dig down, how far apart to spread the seeds, how tall the mounds of dirt should be, how much water they needed per day, and how to prevent wild animals – namely crows – from getting to them. The sun was rapidly setting by the time he stepped foot outside. He had the guide in one hand and the packets of seeds in the other, ready to get started. He instantly realized that he was going to have to postpone, though, as he stared at the cluttered earth before him.

Sighing, he went inside the house and dumped Lewis’s package and its contents onto the small wooden dining table. Beside the fireplace, he was elated to discover some old tools that his grandfather must have used. A chipped axe, a dull pickaxe and scythe, a dirt-caked hoe, and a rusty watering can became his most-used gifts of the day. Derek had never done sports or manual labor of any kind, really, so when he started clumsily swinging the pickaxe at the first rock he spotted, he instantly broke out into a sweat. It took 20 minutes to crumble one rock and that was when it really sunk in. He tossed the pickaxe with an annoyed grunt and traded for the scythe instead.

He began wildly swinging it through the tall weeds and grass, nearly sending his own body flying a few times. His shoulders ached terribly, but after another hour of less-than-graceful chopping, he had cleared a small space to plant at least a few of the seeds. He grunted as he swung the hoe into the dirt and was shocked to find how fertile and soft it was, despite having been choked with debris for so long. He ran inside to grab the seeds and the book again, excitement thrumming in his veins.

It was nearly nine when he stood. He had only had room to plant ten of the fifteen seeds he was given, but he figured tomorrow would bring a renewed amount of energy. He whistled to himself as he strolled to the pond to fill his watering can. The moonlight shone on the water and his own tired, but hopeful eyes stared back at him. He gave his reflection a small smile, which was returned in kind.

 _Maybe I can really do this,_ he thought to himself as he watered his first crop.

* * *

“Ugh, why the hell did I _do_ this?!” Derek groaned as his alarm clock blasted through his sleep. Every muscle in his upper body throbbed with pain. It felt like the very fibers of his being had been lit with a match. “Fuck this...” he mumbled as he rolled over and went back to sleep.

Two hours later and getting out of bed was the biggest chore he’d done so far, his core and shoulders screaming in protest. He rummaged through his emptied backpack in vain, already knowing he hadn’t thought to bring painkillers with him.

He sighed, figuring he’d have to go into town sooner than he’d thought. He trudged into the bathroom and stripped, turning on the shower.

“Robin, you’re a fucking godsend,” he moaned, as the hot water that she’d fixed eased into his sore muscles. It was a while before he could even move to wash himself. He toweled off, wincing at nearly every movement of his arms, and brushed his teeth before futilely running his fingers through his damp hair. Whatever – the red curls did what they want regardless of what he did.

He grabbed his phone, which had been charging overnight, and headed into town. If the bus stop to his farm was a trek, the town from his farm was a damn _hike._ He grumbled under his breath about becoming a recluse if he was going to need a 5-hour energy drink every time he left his land. ‘His land’; that still felt so odd to say. Was it really his if 10 puny seeds and a pulverized rock were his only mark?

His sneakers finally found cobblestone instead of dirt, and he sighed in relief as he quickly regained his composure. Looking around, the immediate buildings were on his left and they seemed to be the more shop-types. By some miracle, the first one he approached was a clinic. He gently turned the handle of the door and walked in. The bespectacled man behind the counter had an even more impressive mustache than the mayor, and was quite attractive, too (if Derek did say so himself).

At the sound of the door opening, the brunette’s head jerked up with an excited smile.

“Ah, you must be the new farmer! Welcome, welcome. I’m Harvey, the town doctor. What can I do for you?” Derek strode over, feeling a small blush creep underneath his collar, before he stuck out his hand.

“Hey, doc. I’m Derek.” As Harvey shook his hand, he winced and remembered why he was here. “I was actually wondering if you had some, uh...” He drummed his fingers nervously on the counter, suddenly embarrassed to admit how much the work had already taken out of him. “Some painkillers,” he mumbled, mentally kicking himself.

Harvey just chuckled lightly and nodded. “Nothing to be ashamed about, farmer,” he reassured, gently. He turned behind him and grabbed a big bottle of extra strength ibuprofen. “First bottle’s on me,” he said. Then he _winked._ Derek swooned, blush intensifying.

“Uh, th-thanks,” he mumbled.

“Not a problem! Also, whenever you have the time, I’ll need your medical records sent over from Zuzu City as well as potentially scheduling your yearly physical.” Though his tone and demeanor were strictly professional, Derek couldn’t help but think about that goddamned wink. _How’s about we knock out that physical right now, doc?_ he indulged briefly, before giving himself another mental punt. He nodded quickly and muttered something along the lines of ‘sounds good’ before he grabbed the bottle and hurried out, having embarrassed himself enough.

Next door was a grocery store that he truly did not have any money to spend in if he wanted to eat tonight. As he moved on (figuring he’d loop around to the other buildings on his right), he spotted a building that made him freeze on the bridge he’d been crossing as agitation built in his stomach.

“You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me! Joja’s here, too?!” he cried, gripping the bottle tightly. He didn’t even notice the employee that was very much in earshot as they were headed in. They turned to Derek, but he couldn’t get glimpse of their face before he heard a faint scoff and they disappeared behind the sliding doors. 

* * *

The sun was dipping below the horizon again, and Derek had been hard at work to clear more of his land and plant the remaining seeds. The painkillers hadn’t been a cure-all, but they’d helped enough to where he could bite through the residual soreness that plagued him. His stomach had been growling all day, but he’d been denying himself reprieve until he got everything in the ground. Leaning on his hoe, he swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead.

“I’m gonna have to shower again, aren’t I?” he asked the tilled soil. He sighed and dragged his tools in. His shower was quick and to the point, unlike the one he’d took this morning. He didn’t know when the food places out here closed, and he sure didn’t have any cooking materials. He threw his dirty outfit in the wash – bringing 6 shirts, a pair of shorts, and 4 pants meant frequent laundry – and put on something fresh. The hike into town wasn’t as bad this time, but maybe it was because he was fueled by his hunger.

When he got into the town square, one of the buildings to the right that he hadn’t scoped out this morning was bursting at the seams with light and energy. _The saloon?_ he wondered. Sure enough, as he came around to the front steps of the building, the sign indicated he might have psychic abilities after all. He pushed the door open into the cozy warmth. It was a fairly large place, but he still heard conversations peter out, as too many sets of eyes tried not to stare at the new farmer.

Derek never found himself wilting under attention, though, so he simply smiled at the few faces he caught and strolled up to the bar. Conversation slowly began to swell back into place as a rotund man with a thick mustache – _damn, did everyone here have a goddamn mustache?_ – greeted him.

“Hey, hey! It’s the new farmer! I’m Gus, what can I get you?” The jovial man made Derek’s small smile stretch even wider. His hope of a friendly town was quickly coming into fruition. The menu was small but sufficient.

“Derek. Lovely place you got here, Gus. How much for a cheese pizza and a beer?” He dug out his wallet and Gus waved it away gently.

“Nonsense, Derek, your first meal and drink is on the house.” Derek was shocked that so many people were being so charitable, but he assumed that’s what they must do for all newcomers.

“Shucks, that’s awful sweet of you, Gus.”

“My pleasure! Go on and have a seat, Emily will be right over to pour your drink.” Derek nodded and found a seat by the counter that wound around the front of the place. He looked around him at the people in there who he had yet to meet. The sound of glass on polished wood behind him startled him a bit, as he turned to see a girl with blue hair smiling apologetically.

“Whoops! Didn’t mean to spook you!” she giggled, sweetly. “I’m Emily, and you must be Derek?” He nodded and shook her hand, chuckling. She poured his beer for him in the mug she’d set down. “So how’re you liking it on that old farm?” She leaned on one hip and tilted her head with an innocent curiosity.

“It’s going good so far,” he started, sitting back and sipping his drink. “Finally got the parsnips in the ground. Now we wait.” She giggled again and Derek decided he liked that sound a lot.

“Well, Derek, I’d love to chat some more, but I have more customers waiting. But don’t be a stranger, okay?” He raised his mug in affirmation as she slid away to wherever it is pretty bartenders go.

A few more people came up to him: Pam, a very drunk and very loud woman who had trouble stringing together a coherent sentence; Willy, the local fisherman, who promised to give Derek a free introductory lesson (but fish are disgusting, so he might pass on that – sorry); Leah, a gorgeous artist who apparently lived in the woods south of his farm; Marnie, a local rancher who also lived down south and would be happy to sell him livestock when he built a barn or a coop; and Elliott, an aspiring writer who might’ve been handsome had he not talked Derek’s ear off and whispered down the hole. In fact, the only reason he got Elliott to stop talking was because Emily put his pizza down in front of him.

Elliott took that as a cue to let him eat; and eat he did. Derek probably should’ve been more embarrassed at how wolfishly he tore into that pizza, but he had only been eating the meager forageables he could find. When the pizza was devoured, he sat back with a contented sigh and drained the rest of his beer. He ran a hand through his red curls and looked around the saloon again.

Derek’s eyes settled on a man who hadn’t introduced himself yet. He was tucked into a secluded corner by the fireplace. He seemed to be staring into his almost empty beer mug like he were having a telepathic conversation with the liquid. Derek, emboldened by the wealth of warmth he’d received from the townsfolk thus far, began walking over.

As he got closer, he almost thought he saw the man’s knuckles whiten as they gripped the mug tighter. He felt a twinge of doubt erupt in his belly, but he was never one for backing down. Stubborn, his mother would’ve cooed. To a fault, one of his many foster parents might’ve quipped. Once he was in the man’s space, he had donned the smile that he’d exhausted already today.

“Hey, nice to meet you! I’m Derek,” he said with confidence, thrusting his hand out. The stranger’s head snapped up to fix him with a glare carried through bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t know you. Why are you talking to me?” Derek’s brow furrowed and he felt the smile drop, returning his hand to his side. What was this guy’s deal?

“’Cause it’s a bar,” he drawled. “And I’m the new farmer, so I’ve been introducing myself.” At this, the man scoffed.

“Don’t care,” he deadpanned. _Oh, so_ that’s _how we’re playing this,_ Derek thought. He put his elbow on the bar beside him and leaned casually, wearing a smirk with a daring glint in his eyes.

“Who shit in your cornflakes this morning?” He finally let his eyes glance over the rest of this asshole and quickly spotted the logo on the guy’s blue hoodie. “Ah, never mind. I see,” he chuckled dryly.

“ _What?_ ” the guy hissed. Derek pointed at the article of clothing.

“You work at Joja? No wonder you’re such a dick.” Derek was prepared for his notoriously big mouth to get him in trouble when the man slammed his mug down on the bar and straightened up to get in Derek’s face, but he kept his relaxed pose and looked at him with a bored expression.

“Leave. Me. The _fuck_. Alone,” the man growled through gritted teeth. “And I’d rather be a dick than a child throwing a tantrum in the town square.” Derek connected the dots from this morning and barked out a harsh laugh.

“Whatever, man. Enjoy drowning in that dump,” he spat. He didn’t give a shit to see or hear the drunk’s reaction as he turned on his heel and left the saloon. Of course, there had to be that _one_ guy. That _one_ person who’s just determined to be a prick, even in the face of so much hospitality. But as he got home, his anger turned predictably inward.

In the end, Derek couldn’t help but believe that he was unfriendable, unlovable, and all the other un-‘s that the measly two years of foster care had ingrained into him. One thing was for certain, however.

He would hate that man as much as he hated himself.


	2. Might Not Last the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: lots of flippant suicidal ideation

His alarm barreled through his broken sleep, making Shane groan as familiar pain pulsed behind his eye sockets. His arm dove out from underneath the covers to slap wildly at his nightstand, whacking the source of the sound until it stopped. _Another day, another dollar,_ Shane thought, bitterly. His routine was pitifully simple, but he didn’t deserve complexities. A man like Shane was put on the Earth to be a bottom-feeder, at best, and the world constantly reminded him of it.

He swung his legs off the bed, sitting up, and willing the floor to stop spinning. He felt a lurch in his stomach and internally cursed as he burst from his bedroom and into the bathroom, narrowly missing the toilet bowl. He flushed and wiped his sour lips against the back of his hand, turning on the shower. He didn’t even dare to look down as he got undressed, preferring to imagine himself as just a floating pair of eyes and arms and legs. He hurled against the shower drain twice more before he was able to compose himself enough for a proper wash.

 _Must’ve drank more than usual last night,_ he noted. Then he found himself snarling in agitation as memories of that douchebag of a farmer from last night came into his mind.

_“Enjoy drowning in that dump.”_

The pure audacity of that kid set his nerve endings on fire. Shane was sure that if the red-headed prick hadn’t left immediately after, he would’ve sent him back to his shitty farm with a rearranged face. Shane cut the water off with a harsh twist of the knob and closed his eyes as he dried himself off. He scrubbed at his hair with the towel and tried to fix it blindly with his fingers, before deciding he didn’t really care.

He hung said gray towel over the mirror as he brushed his teeth and put on cologne to mask his marinated booze scent, before changing into a spare uniform he kept under the sink specifically for mornings like these where the hangover rushed him to the porcelain throne. When he exited the bathroom, he smelled Marnie cooking breakfast. He finished buckling his belt as he poured himself a generous cup of coffee and popped four painkillers on his dry tongue.

“Why did you have to be so rude to the new farmer last night?” Marnie’s soft voice carried disappointment. He groaned at her without answering as he sat at the dining table. “You know he’s a really nice guy-“ Shane interrupted her with a harsh scoff that earned him a scathing glare.

“You obviously didn’t hear what he was saying to me, then. Dude’s an ass-wipe.”

“Shane Robinson! Language!” Marnie pointed at him with a spatula that dripped in bacon grease. “I know Derek wouldn’t have said anything unprovoked. He’s been a dear to everyone in this town, so far.” Shane opened his mouth to argue some more, but just then Jas’s door opened and she came bouncing out, ready for school. When she saw him, her eyes lit up and _damn_ if he couldn’t stand to be angry around her. His features softened almost immediately as she chirped his name and jumped into his lap for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and her purple backpack tightly.

“Mornin’, kiddo,” he smiled as he ruffled her hair. “You got everything you need for Miss Penny?” She nodded eagerly.

“Mhm! Today, she’s gonna teach me and Vincent-“

“Vincent and _I,_ ” he corrected, gently.

“ _Vincent and I_ all about times tables!” She bounced excitedly and he chuckled, marveling at her endless energy. Then she stilled and he immediately knew what was coming when he saw her don that puppy-dog eye look. “Maybe after you get home from work, you can help me with my homework?” Her voice was hopeful, pleading. He truly struggled against that gaze, knowing that any decent human being would immediately acquiesce – who would choose a bar over a kid? Especially _this_ kid, who was entrusted to him by two people who he ached for every single day. What decent person would turn her down?

But Shane had long convinced himself he wasn’t a decent person. The judgmental looks he got in town solidified it, Penny’s barely contained glares when he didn’t pick Jas up on time (or at all) strengthened it, Marnie’s almost-daily lectures fueled it, and the little girl in his lap who only wanted his love and attention begged for him to prove it. So, he sighed and gave her a small ‘maybe’ – one that he knew this incredibly intelligent little girl understood as a definite ‘no’ – and tried to forget the crestfallen look in her eyes.

He convinced himself that she didn’t need him, anyway. Sure, she might be sad right now, but she would eventually see what a basket case he was, just like all of the adults did. He told himself that the sooner he drew away from her, the quicker she’d be able to latch onto someone who could go more than 24 hours without escaping down the neck of a bottle. Someone who could provide for her since they wouldn’t be a deadbeat stock boy with daunting medical debt and no career goals. Someone who was simply _better_ for her.

That way, when he was gone, she wouldn’t have to miss him too much.

* * *

The sound of the JojaMart automatic doors was one he often found lurking in his nightmares, along with the stupid jingles that played overhead. He clocked in five minutes early, because if there was one way he could truly torture himself in a semi-productive way, it was dragging himself through the worst of his hangovers to be a punctual employee and produce the only thing he was good for – money.

As the hours dragged by, he unpacked pallet after pallet of garbage produce to stock on the shelves. Unfortunately, the monotony of the job made his thoughts cling to him like those mine slimes.

_'Enjoy drowning in that dump.'_

_'You work at Joja? No wonder you’re such a dick.'_

_'Why were you so rude...'_

_'Can you help me with my homework?'_

_'Uncle Shane, do you wanna-'_

_Shane-_

“Shane!”

He jerked his head upwards, startled from the abyss of his head to see he had been crouched over a now-empty pallet. Numbly, he stared into the eyes of his co-worker, Sam. The kid’s blonde hair was spiked as usual, but his usual chipper demeanor was now laced with concern. He liked the guy well enough. His enthusiasm was often too much for his pulsing headaches, but he was genuine and could sometimes crack a good joke. Plus, they semi-bonded over their mutual hatred of Morris.

“Shane, you okay, bro? You need a breather?” Sam was leaning on the handle of his broom, one hand on top of the other and scratching at it idly, fidgeting nervously, like he were talking to a caged tiger. Shane sighed, choking down the embarrassment, and stood up as he yanked the empty pallet under his arm.

“’M fine,” he mumbled, turning away to get more stock.

“Take care of yourself, man,” Sam quietly called to his retreating form. Out of earshot at this point, Shane scoffed. His hand shoved the backroom door open and he tossed the pallet to be abandoned in the corner until it was refilled with more stock. Rinse and repeat. An image of the tall cliffs in the southern forest entered his mind as he sneered, grabbing a pallet of Joja Cola.

“Don’t you worry, Sammy,” his voice dripped with contempt. “I’ll take care of myself, all right.”

* * *

At 5PM, he sighed as he left that egregious blue building, keeping his eyes downcast as he made his way to the saloon. He ignored the guilt that he wouldn’t be walking Jas home from school and forced himself to focus on the ground in front of him. As he approached the bridge, he heard a small splash and looked up to see Derek reading – yes, _reading_ – in the middle of the upper bridge. He considered going the long route and taking the southern one by the library, but that risked running into Penny’s scorn and Jas’s hurt. He picked up his pace and kept his gaze down so he didn’t catch the farmer’s stare.

Unfortunately, keeping his field of view so small meant that he didn’t see the backpack sitting on the bridge until he’d clumsily kicked it. He stumbled, and grit his teeth, trying to just keep walking. Fat chance.

“Was that really necessary?” That voice had been in his thoughts way too often today, and a lot of pent up guilt had been building on Shane. Pent up guilt that could so _easily_ get channeled into rage. It was an accident, but the farmer didn’t deserve an apology.

“Maybe stop blocking the fucking walkway,” he snarled, whipping around and locking eyes with the red-head.

“And you called _me_ a child,” he scoffed. “Very mature, Shane.”

“I don’t recall telling you my name,” he quipped back, deeply unnerved. The farmer just let out a mirthless chuckle and smirked, approaching closer.

“Didn’t take a lot of detective work. Everyone knows who the alcoholic JojaMart worker is.” That was pretty much all it took. The smirk he’d seen at the bar last night had manifested itself before him. A redemption, almost; to give Shane a second chance at wiping it off the farmer’s face. Derek didn’t even seem to anticipate the swing before he was stumbling back and clutching his jaw in his left hand.

The tension was thick, but it only lasted a moment before Derek closed the space with a lightning speed and slapped him with an open palm that made Shane see stars. The sound of it rang through the air and suddenly, the two were angrily wrestling on the cobblestone, trading blows and growls. Shane didn’t even feel the pain in his hands or his face. All he saw were those ice blue eyes clouded in the same anger that he felt. Derek had straddled Shane, blue uniform collar twisted in his hand and fist cocked back when a yell startled both men from their reverie.

“Hey! Stop it! Stop it, you two! Break it up! _Hey!_ ” Both men broke apart to see Penny running towards them, Jas and Vincent in tow. Shane still felt rage pumping in his veins, adrenaline forcing his chest to heave up and down as he and Derek scooted apart. Penny halted the kids behind her, but Jas still ran over to him. “Just what in the world are you two thinking?! This is not how you solve problems, and this is _certainly_ not behavior Jas needs to be exposed to!” She glared at them both, but particularly at Shane during her last sentence.

“U-uncle Shane, are you okay?” Jas looked at him, eyes brimming with tears and bottom lip quivering. Her small fingers gently brushed over what he could assume were blossoming bruises and harsh cuts under his eye, on his cheek, and on his jaw. He swallowed nervously and nodded.

“Yeah, kiddo. I’m okay. Let’s, uh... let’s get you home.” He chanced another glance at Penny and immediately wilted again under the anger in her eyes. “We’ll work on your homework, okay?” He tried his best at a smile but he knew it was wavering. She nodded and threw her arms around his neck. He saw Derek staring out of his peripheral vision and he gave him the nastiest glare he could muster. Jas pulled back and he wiped it off before she could see, standing up and stumbling a bit.

“Carry me?” she asked quietly. This time, a tiny smile finally made its way on his face, albeit a tired one.

“’Course, squirt.” He hoisted her up and barely managed to mutter a ‘thanks’ to Penny, who scoffed and turned to Derek. Shane carried Jas all the way to the ranch, glad he couldn’t hear whatever gentle words Penny was saying to Derek, who was likely telling Penny what a useless piece of garbage Shane was, who would no doubt agree and add that he was even more useless of a guardian for the brilliant bundle of light in his arms.

The worst part was they’d be right.

* * *

As soon as they got through the door, Marnie fussed over him, drilling him with questions. There was no use in lying since a 3-foot-11-inch witness was in the room.

“What in Yoba’s name possessed you to get into a fist fight with the farmer?” she scolded as she wiped crusted blood from his face. At first, anger threatened to resurface. Of course, no one was really concerned with _why_ Shane – who never displayed violent tendencies drunk, much less painfully sober – would feel compelled to acquaint his right hook with Derek’s face. Of _course,_ any concern thrown in his direction was a mere surface-level need to make his wounds sightly. There was no use getting angry over hard truths, so he became resigned instead. He shrugged lamely and felt his shoulders sag. “What, that’s it? A shrug is all I get? This is pathetic, Shane. Not to mention in broad daylight and right in front of Jas!” She was yelling now, pointing behind her at the girl who solemnly sat at the table as if it were _her_ being lectured.

“’M sorry, Marn,” he mumbled. The bruises and cuts on his face were nothing compared to the twisting despair in his gut. Hard truths hurt, and the hard truth was that this _had_ been pathetic. _He_ was pathetic. Derek was probably getting support from the townspeople, with a hearty pat on the back and the occasional _‘He probably deserved it’_ or _‘Don’t sweat it, farmer, he’s had it coming for a while now.’_ Shane wasn’t aloof to how the town thought of him, or the whispers they didn’t think – or maybe just didn’t care – he could catch. But that was what Shane had wanted, right? That’s why he had spent his entire tenure here pushing them all away? Because once Shane experienced the deepest despair fathomable to him, all he knew and all he could process or feel or manifest was despair.

He wanted a drink, and he wanted one bad. He gently grabbed Marnie’s wrist when she raised it to continue dabbing at his face and lowered it to her side. Without a word, he caught Jas’s gaze and tried to tell her how sorry he was with his eyes, because words were too entangled in the pit of his stomach and the spiral of his thoughts sealed his lips together. His eyes flitted back to Marnie’s face for a brief moment, catching the crushing disappointment and hurt that seemed to be the only emotions she had for him nowadays, before turning and leaving the house, closing the door behind him.

The walk to the Saloon was one that was so ingrained in his bones, that his legs simply carried him there of their own volition. Before he knew it, he was in his corner – despondent, dissociating, and predictably drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really add it in the tags, but both Shane and Derek have a dissociation problem that runs throughout - as it's a symptom of depression (or sometimes a different disorder entirely) that doesn't get discussed enough, imo.


	3. A Peek Under the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one! Marnie and Shane's dynamic is one I've wanted to give proper focus to for ages, and I hope you'll like their background arc.

It was two in the morning and all Derek had been able to do was stare blankly at his bedroom ceiling. He was sore, yes. Shane had got him good. But physical pain took a backseat to the emotional strain of the aftermath. Penny had tried to cheer him up, her glare softening considerably once Shane and Jas had left, but her words hadn’t sat right in his gut. She’d tried to say – in that roundabout, ‘not-to-be-rude’, flowery way – that the farmer didn’t have to worry, because Shane had always been an asshole and always _would_ be an asshole.

If you’d asked Derek if this were true yesterday or, hell, even seconds before Penny had intercepted their schoolyard brawl, he would have agreed. But then he saw Shane interact with his niece – how his voice and body language immediately took on a different tone; how the little girl seemed to trip over herself with adoration for the man. Something just wasn’t adding up, and Derek loathed the part of his mind that had always been enthralled with mystery novels.

He’d seen drunk parents when he was in the system. They’d stumble in the front door, step clumsily over the gaunt and hungry kids, yell and curse and spit at them, neglect them, or (Yoba forbid) hit them. He himself had been on the receiving end of too many of those encounters. Those types similarly had some unresolved anger that they drowned in alcohol, but their anger had always run deeper; an evil that lingered, sober or not. Never had he seen someone who almost appeared to be... acting the part? As if Shane _wanted_ people to believe he was some cold-hearted prick, but the charade was transparent in some places. And when he was with Jas, you could see right through it.

He found himself wondering if there were any other things that exposed him.

Then, his aching jaw and stinging cheekbone asked him why he even cared.

Why the hell does he care about some closed-off bar fly who gets his rocks off by playing big, bad wolf? He thought back to the night before, at the saloon, and how he goaded Shane to anger so he could pretend he was some interesting opponent to the man’s moodiness – someone who was fearless and worth paying attention to – only to secretly slink back into his hole of vulnerability when he got home. Was it not the same thing?

 _Oh, fuck off,_ he scolded himself, bitterly. He rolled onto his side to face the wall like a petulant child and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his mind to empty. Willing his thoughts to _stop,_ just _stop it_ for once.

He tossed and turned pitifully until his 6AM alarm laughed at him.

* * *

The next several days passed in a mottled blur of Derek being barely sentient in his skin. He harvested a meager first crop of parsnips, adopted a stray tomcat that Marnie had thrust at him, and planted a variety of spring seeds on the land he was slowly clearing. He knew he was in a depressive slump, as his only trip to town had been to get seeds and cat supplies. Strangely, his depression had always manifested itself in a dangerous recklessness. The thrill of impulsive adventures or projects was his glass mug; the resulting consequences were simultaneously the amber comfort and the hangover that left him thirsting for more. This was how Derek found himself in a tree that was much too tall for needless climbing, tying a piece of rope to a sturdy branch. On the other end of the rope was an old tire that he’d found on a desolate part of the beach, and damn if he wasn’t going to make a swing out of it.

He straddled the branch as he tied, confident in its strength to hold him. Once the rope was secure with several knots, he smiled with satisfaction and turned his torso to begin his descent. In that moment, a crow swooped down toward him, cawing loudly and probably after whatever produce on his farm that it could find. Derek yelped and easily lost his balance, falling off the branch with a choked cry.

_Crunch._

Derek wailed in agony, clutching his arm which was _definitely_ not supposed to be bending that way.

 ** _“Oh, fuck! Fucking shit! Augh!”_** he screamed. The pain became so intense that he couldn’t do more than whimper with an open mouth as tears streamed down his cheeks. He dug in his pocket for his phone with his good arm and shakily dialed Harvey’s emergency number. “Harv-“ he interrupted himself with another strangled cry. “Broke my goddamned ar-“ he wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth.

_“Oh, Yoba. Hang tight, I’m on my way!”_

He sobbed loudly into the receiver before the pain stole his consciousness.

* * *

He came to in a hospital bed, eyelids fluttering and eyebrows drawn close in confusion. Then he remembered and groaned. He stole a glance, seeing his left arm in a hard, beige cast and a dark blue sling. He hissed as he tried to move it and decided to leave it be. Looking around the room, he found it to be completely empty of anything except the generic hospital furniture. Derek felt that emptiness begin to crawl inside him as well.

The door opened and Doctor Harvey stepped in, clicking it shut behind him. He approached the bed and smiled down at him.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” he said softly. “How’re you feeling?” Derek just groaned again in response, which brought an amused chuckle from Harvey, who began jotting down his vitals. “That’s to be expected, unfortunately.” He grabbed a sheet of wobbly material and held it up to the light for Derek to look at. It was an x-ray of his arm - his spindly white bones stretching across the canvas. “You seem to have broken your arm in two separate places,” he began, indicating to two nasty black lines that interrupted the solid structure. “I’ve given you a pretty generous dose of morphine, so you might be quite dizzy and disoriented for the next few hours and will need supervision until at least evening. Do you have parents I can contact? Siblings? Friends?”

The inquiry was gentle, but the emptiness of the unoccupied chairs expanded within him – because, no, he did not. In fact, in the almost two weeks he’d been in this town, all he’d made so far was an enemy. He bit his lip and turned his head to the side, hoping the doctor didn’t see the humiliation springing to his eyes. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and Harvey sighed.

“Well, Marnie lives just South of you and she’s very kind and very neighborly. I don’t doubt she’d be willing to help you home. Would you like me to call?” Derek couldn’t help the huff that escaped him. Of course, he’d be left with no one to fill his patronizing hospital room, forced to bother some poor stranger out of sheer proximity. It was scary how right all of the foster parents had been. As he nodded and burrowed into the crook of his right elbow, Harvey promised to be right back, stepping out of the room to presumably make the phone call.

**Shane**

Shane was eating a lunch of cold pizza at the dining table, watching Jas color on a piece of construction paper. It was Saturday, one of his treasured days off from the hell-hole of big corporations, and though he’d intended to munch in his room like the rodent he was, he had found himself too amused by the scribbles and shapes his goddaughter carefully imposed on the page. She paused for a moment, tapping a green crayon she’d just been using against her chin.

“Should I do a purple jellyfish or a blue one?” She looked up at him expectantly.

He paused in genuine thought. “How ‘bout green? You love that green jelly at the summer festival, right?” She seemed to contemplate this suggestion before shaking her head solemnly.

“I just used green!” She held up her dark green crayon. “For the seaweed. You wouldn’t be able to see him.” He hummed in agreement, chewing another bite and rifling through her crayon stash before plucking one out.

“Light green then? Maybe yellow around the edges to make it glow?” Suddenly he was fucking Picasso. Her face scrunched up in thought again, and Shane couldn’t help but smile at how adorable it was. _Just like Jillian,_ he mused, before stuffing that comment back to wherever it came from. Jas’s face lit up suddenly as she took it from him, seemingly deeming it a worthy solution.

“Thanks, Uncle Shane!” she chirped, beginning to sketch out a rough blob. Just then, the house phone rang. He sighed and set his pizza down, hoisting the phone from its cradle.

“Hello?” he said, gruffly.

_“Oh! Ah, hello, Shane. It’s Doctor Harvey. Say, is Marnie there?”_

“Oh, uh, yeah- one minute,” he replied, voice laced with confusion. “Marnie!” he called down the hall. Her door opened and she padded toward the kitchen, hair damp from where she must’ve been drying it. “It’s Harvey?” It came out as more of a question than a statement. He saw her face morph in an identical look of bafflement.

“Oh, goodness,” she mumbled, taking the phone from him. Shane sat back down at the table, ears pricked for her half of the conversation. Meanwhile, Jas was coloring away, unaware of anything else but the bright sea creature she was drawing. “Hello, doctor... I’m fine... No-... Oh no, I’m not busy! What’s the matter?... Oh, heavens!” Shane’s head jerked up to see Marnie put a hand to her chest. “Oh, that poor boy!” He shoved what remained of the crust into his mouth. “No one? Oh, that’s awful... Yes, I see... Of course! We’d be happy to! We’ll be right over.” _Hold on a minute,_ Shane thought. _Who’s this ‘we’?_ Marnie turned around with a distraught look on her face. “Derek fell out of a tree this morning on his property and just about shattered his arm,” she explained. “Harvey said he’s on medication but he has no one to call.” Shane glowered, knowing where this was going. “We’re going to fetch him from the clinic and take him home, help him with whatever he needs.”

Jas nodded and started to pack up her things, but Shane stayed still and scowled at his empty plate.

“Hopefully by ‘we’, you mean you and Jas.” He grit his teeth angrily. When Marnie didn’t respond, he looked up to see she had closed her eyes and was rubbing her temples. Marnie got stress migraines every now and again, Shane usually being the culprit. He sighed in agitation, getting up and tossing his plate into the sink with an unceremonious clatter. “I mean, have you just forgotten about last week?”

“Shane, you’re going.” Her voice was firm, on the edge of snapping. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but I will not tolerate this petty rivalry. This could be a good chance for you and Derek to start over; get off on the right foot.” The disappointment was back in her eyes, intertwined with a special brand of frustration that only yours truly seemed to conjure. Once again, he was forced to shoulder the full responsibility of the altercations. Sometimes the hardest part of being a bottom-feeder was having to stomach everything that rained down from above. The resignation draped over his bones again.

“Fine. I’ll get dressed.”

* * *

The trio walked into town and entered the clinic around 45 minutes after the call. Hearing the door, Harvey poked his head from around the corner and strode over to greet them.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice! I’m sure Derek will be happy to see you all.” Shane bit back a scoff. “I will warn you, though, that his pain spiked shortly after we hung up, so I gave him another round of morphine. He’s a bit... out of it.” Shane rolled his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t have to carry the farmer home. “Follow me, his room is this way.” They all plodded down the hall towards an open door near the end. Shane felt something brush his hand and looked down to see Jas grasp his index and middle finger in her tiny fist. He did his best to give her a reassuring smile.

When they entered the room, Derek was lying in a bed with a bulky cast and sling, looking more than just a ‘bit out of it’. Jas slid behind Shane to peep behind his legs and he found himself smiling in amusement at her. When Derek saw them, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Thought you said you jus’ call’d Marn...ie,” he slurred. His aunt chuckled, realizing just how little the farmer knew.

“Shane’s my nephew, dear. Jas over here”—she pointed behind Shane—“is his goddaughter.” Derek’s eyebrows stayed knit as his obviously foggy mind tried to piece it together. Then his face relaxed and he smiled the most lopsided grin and lazily pointed at Shane.

“I din’ know you were a _dad_ ,” he said with a giggle. Shane rolled his eyes and scowled. He really wasn’t in the mood to explain just how much he wasn’t deserving to be a father figure for the girl hiding behind him. Especially not to _Derek,_ who was apparently too doped up to remember he hated Shane. Thankfully, he was more than prepared to remember for the both of them.

“So, Derek is going to be in this hard cast for four weeks, and in the sling for another two. I’m sending him home with a prescription for some powerful painkillers that he should limit to only twice a day. He needs to have his arm elevated as much as possible.” He glanced back at Derek, who was rolling his head from side to side and quietly giggling. “I’m telling you all this so that you can relay it to him when he’s... coherent.” Derek sat up, then, still dressed in dirty farm clothes.

“Barney... thank you s’ much,” he blinked slowly, grinning. Jas stepped out from behind Shane and giggled.

“No, silly, her name’s _Marnie._ ”

“Wha’ I say?” This caused another fit of giggles from the girl and Shane loathed to realize that he was biting back an amused smile, too. He should’ve just let Marnie’s disappointment drown him, so he could’ve been in his room by now with a case of canned complacency. Marnie was laughing and moving to Derek’s right side to gently lift him up by his good arm.

“Come on, dear. Let’s get you home,” she cooed. Harvey then picked up a bottle from the bedside table and rattled it for emphasis.

“Don’t forget your medicine, Derek.”

“Jus’ puddit on m’bill, doc,” he flapped a hand at him. Harvey sighed patiently and shook his head.

“I got it,” Shane said with an agitated grunt, grabbing the prescription. Together, they all walked to the front door of the clinic. Harvey waved them farewell as they stepped into the afternoon sun and began the journey to the farmer’s home. Marnie let go of his arm once she saw that he was fine to walk on his own, save for a stumble or two that made her rush to steady him.

“What were you doing up in the trees?” She gently chided.

“I was makin’ a swing!” he giggled, stumbling a bit again. Shane scoffed, unable to hold it back.

“You _broke_ your _arm_... for a stupid swing?” he asked, sardonically. He was behind Derek, who tried to turn his head back to look at him, but ended up stumbling into Marnie, who caught him and righted him for perhaps the fifth time.

“I’ss not _stupid_ ,” Derek replied with indignation. “An’ I woulda been fine e’ssept a huge fu-” his eyes flickered to Jas. “Huge freaking _bird_ came at me like _fwooosh!_ ” He emphasized his point by thrusting his right hand forward in an arc. “Nearly took my head off!” Jas gasped and giggled with Marnie. Shane hated that he softened – not just over the courtesy toward the younger ears present, but at how ridiculous this seemingly egotistical jerk was turning out to be.

“Still, man. All for a swing?” Derek couldn’t turn back to look at Shane, but he did bob his head in a confident nod.

“Mhm, and it’s the best dang swing you’ve e’er seen, Shane, you’re gon’ love it.”

“ _Oh_ , no. No way am I gonna use your bone-breaking swing.” And _damn it all,_ he was _smiling_.

“Nooo, only th’ trees do that, I swear. Swing’s farmer tested and crow approved.” They all erupted into various levels of laughter at that and as they stepped foot onto the farm, Shane briefly indulged the notion that maybe Derek was really just a little boy hiding in adult-sized clothing.

* * *

“So, Derek,” Marnie started with a gentle head tilt as she cut into the meat on her plate. “Tell me about yourself. Why’d you move in from the city?”

It had been a few hours since they’d taken the farmer home. As the boy sobered up, Marnie had dashed back home for a meal to cook for them all. Meanwhile, he’d watered the crops with his good arm while Shane split some firewood for him and Jas played in the fields. When the medicine had taken the haziness from his mind, Derek had fallen strangely quiet and reserved, especially around Shane. He supposed this was fair, though. Just last Wednesday, they’d been at each other’s throats like feral dogs, and now one of those mutts was forced to show weakness.

Shane wasn’t a man who engrossed himself with power struggles by any means, mind you. If anything, he was harshly aware of his permanent slot at the tail-end of the town’s food chain, but he’d rather break his own arm than admit any of that to the red-head. What truly got under Shane’s skin was how hard it was to hate Derek right now. He’d tried to shove down any empathy that had been creeping up, as it was not only unwelcome, but _useless,_ too. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking that there was something to the farmer that made some annoyingly curious part of his brain churn.

If he was some macho badass that oozed charisma, why were neighbors who he’d had one or two interactions with his only option? Where was this kid’s family? Where were his new townie friends he should’ve been attracting like moths to a light?

So when Marnie entered with her not-so-subtle way of addressing the elephant in the room, Shane ate quietly and pretended he didn’t catch on to what she was trying to do. Because if he were being candid with himself, the curiosity positively ate at him. Jas was sat next to Shane, pushing the green beans on her plate around, and Marnie sat across from her, next to the farmer. After the closed-off mood he’d witnessed, he didn’t expect Derek to be open to any type of gentle prodding. But Derek shattered expectation once again.

“I worked at JojaCorp for a decade. Since I turned eighteen. Couldn’t stand it. Had to get out.” His short and choppy sentences were completely uncharacteristic from the smooth and sarcastic drawl that had been boiling Shane’s insides for days now. He found himself picking at the edges of the chicken with his fork idly. Marnie knew good and well that he didn’t really like eating chicken, not when he loved the animal so much.

“You worked for Joja?” He was almost shocked to hear his own voice stumble past his lips, and he looked up to lock eyes with Derek who was unable to mask an identical disbelief.

“Um... yeah. Didn’t have much else of a choice,” he mumbled, hastily shoveling another bite into his mouth. _That won’t save you, pal,_ Shane internally smirked. He’d tried to duck many Marnie probes with food before, but she always kept on firing away. Derek didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable, so much as just downright embarrassed.

“College?” Marnie asked. Derek just shook his head.

“Couldn’t afford it. Didn’t have time to save up and I needed to be out on my own as soon as possible.” Marnie’s shoulders sagged empathetically and she was truly terrible at keeping pity from her voice.

“Was home life that bad?”

“Marn-“ Shane interjected with a click of his tongue and a sigh. This was a grown woman, when would she learn to stop butting into people’s business? This wasn’t gossip hour with the girls on Tuesdays, this was their neighbor. She seemed to realize when she saw the look in Shane’s eyes and cleared her throat awkwardly.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Derek shrugged with a poorly kept facade of nonchalance. “My parents died when I was a teenager, so I was in foster care at that point.” Shane’s eyes widened at how blatantly he delivered that to people he barely knew, like he had nothing to lose and simultaneously a lot to give. Like that wasn’t even the worst of it.

“Mines died, too,” Jas spoke for the first time during the meal, locking eyes with the farmer with a solemn nod. Shane impulsively corrected her grammar in the back of his head as his blood ran ice cold. This wasn’t the type of conversation he’d anticipated at all. Derek and Shane were learning too much about each other when all they were supposed to be were pitted rivals in a shitty world that – day by day – made Shane increasingly eager to cash in the latter half of life’s two-way ticket. A flame to briefly warm his numb existence; a going-away gift to himself.

“I hate that we have that in common, kid,” Derek had a sad smile on his face and a deep fondness in his eyes that made Shane’s chest hurt strangely. “But you got a lot of people that love you,” he gestured in a circle around the table with his fork. “And for what it’s worth, you always have a friend in me.” Shane saw Jas grin widely at that and bob her head up and down in an eager nod.

“Are you growing any flowers on your farm?” she asked. “My favorite’s blue jazz! ‘Cause it’s got my name in it,” she giggled. Derek chuckled and hummed in thought.

“Shouldn’t be too difficult to find.” He turned to Shane, smile still across his lips. “In the clinic, Marnie said you were the godfather, right?” Shane immediately felt defensive, hating when people asked him personal questions. Especially people who he hadn’t given one single shit about until said person decided to play Tarzan on their farm. But, while Shane mourned his friends, he always felt a grief for the little girl who’d had to deal with the death of her family way too early in life. This man in front of him had now just confessed how deeply he understood; how deeply that grief resided in him, too. Shane realized with a slow horror that the same prickly protective feelings he had for Jas were beginning to take root in his attachment to the farmer. He was helpless to it.

“O-oh, uh, yeah,” he said with an awkward cough. Derek sat back in his chair and cradled his injured left arm, scratching at the sling thoughtfully.

“Being bounced around like damaged goods was its own special type of hell. Woulda killed for a godparent like you when I was younger,” he muttered softly. He searched the farmer’s face for any trace of sarcasm or dishonesty. Instead, he saw some form of kindness or longing and the softness in his voice that threatened to crack his words solidified the legitimacy of his sentiment. Despite this, resentment and self-loathing hardened in his stomach.

Derek didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Anyone with a functioning frontal lobe could see he wasn’t even in the ballpark of desirable guardian for Jas. Then again, Derek _did_ know – and had so graciously reminded him – what a train wreck he was. Shane set such a low bar in these standards that he could almost kiss the floor and Derek _knew_ that and had _still_ insisted he were the better alternative. Those prickly protective feelings intensified as he shuddered at the implications.


	4. Out On a Limb (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which an outcast and a self-proclaimed social butterfly seem to fall slightly more instep.

The three of them had left shortly after dinner, Marnie promising him that Shane would be by Monday after work to help Derek with whatever he needed. Shane gave her a nasty glare for that, but Marnie pretended she didn’t see. When they left, he sighed and studied the doctor’s instructions that Marnie had scribbled down for him.

For the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday, he took his medicine as prescribed, elevated his arm, and asked the ceiling a lot of questions. Most of which pertained to Shane.

* * *

Monday morning, he rose and watered his crops as quickly as he could. He grumbled in agitation when he realized that was about all he could do with just one arm. Derek decided to head into town, his itch to meet and truly befriend people was growing ever larger. He felt suffocated in the loneliness, and even with everything between him and Shane being strange and shaky, he was still glad the man was coming over later.

In fact, Derek surmised that buying beer might sweeten the deal for the JojaMart worker. When he entered Pierre’s, the shopkeeper grimaced sympathetically at his cast.

“Gosh, Derek. What did you get yourself into?” Derek smiled good-naturedly and shrugged.

“Dangers of farmin’,” he answered vaguely. “I’m in here for a six-pack, could you point me in the right direction?” Following the man’s gesture, Derek spotted a solid variety of brands that ranged in quality and price. He figured he’d buy something that was mid-range and fairly easy on the wallet. After taking it up front and paying for it, he wished Pierre a good day and headed outside with the shopping bag.

There weren’t many people lingering about in town, but he did notice a park behind the shops. He headed up and sat on an old, wooden bench, shopping bag on the ground between his feet, and head tilted back to feel the sun.

“Woah! What happened to your arm?” Derek’s head shot up to catch the gaze of a pretty, blue-eyed blonde staring at him with mild shock. He gave her a half smile and a variation of the non-answer he gave to Pierre.

“Just a little farming accident.” She took that as an invitation to step closer, which he didn’t much mind.

“Doesn’t _seem_ so little,” she muttered quietly, reaching out to brush her fingertips over the fabric of the sling. “Broken?”

“In two places,” he confirmed with a small nod. “Say, have we met? I’m Derek.” He held out his right hand to shake. She took it with a bashful giggle and her skin ended up being just as soft as he would expect. She seemed like a very dainty girl; one who was very conscious of her appearance and image.

“Haley,” she hummed. “Nice to meet you, Derek. You must be a pretty tough guy if you’re able to handle pain like that.” He swore he saw her bat her eyelashes. He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment as he recalled how he screamed and sobbed down the receiver to Harvey. She didn’t have to know that, though. “Can I sign your cast?”

“H-huh? Oh, I mean sure but... I don’t have a-“ She reached into the small purse dangling from her shoulder and fished out a sharpie. _Girls carry markers in there?_ he questioned.

“I do!” With that, she bent toward him and gently snuck her right hand in the sling to sign her name on the side of his wrist that faced up towards him. She even added a small black heart underneath it. “There!” she chirped. “Now you’ll see it whenever you look down.” With a wink and a giggle, she was waving as she skipped away. She was definitely kind and attractive, but something about her struck Derek as just a tad shallow, and he didn’t know what to make of the whole interaction.

He stood and continued walking around town. Just before he was at the beach, he spotted a boy with spiky blonde hair skateboarding on a short road. Derek’s face lit up, eager to introduce himself. As he came closer, the boy landed a successful ollie and the farmer whistled in appreciation.

“That was smooth, man.” The guy looked up in surprise, as if he didn’t hear Derek’s footsteps. _Must’ve really been in the zone,_ he mused. Then the stranger’s face split into a wide grin and he laughed excitedly.

“Hey thanks! You’re the new farmer, huh?” Of course, he then gestured to the arm because everyone was going to until they all got the same hastily put together string of syllables that didn’t satiate but sufficed. “That arm looks rough, what happened?”

“Farming’s no joke,” he chuckled. That one was good, he might reuse that one a few more times. The boy blew a puff of air in empathy. “Name’s Derek, by the way.” He offered his right hand and it was shaken with vigor, making Derek begin to equate the kid to an over-excited dog. He truly loved chipper people, though. He needed more of that blind optimism in his life.

“Sam! You seem like a chill dude, Derek. You should come to the saloon on Friday nights; that’s when me, Seb, and Abby play pool. Though, uh...” Sam seemed to realize what he’d just said and he winced apologetically at the sling. “We also talk and eat and stuff, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Derek tried not to sound too eager. Maybe _he_ was the puppy. He and Sam exchanged phone numbers, Sam promising to text him when they were at the saloon, and Derek waved goodbye. Hopefully, he’d just opened the door to three new friends. He checked his phone: 3:18PM. Marnie said Shane got off at five, so Derek decided he had plenty of time to explore the beach. The warm sand crept into his shoes, so he removed his socks and sneakers and enjoyed the grains between his toes.

He began foraging shells he found on the beach. He was also flagged down by Willy and – despite numerous protests – was given a beginner’s fishing rod. He scrunched up his nose and stuffed it in his backpack. As he gathered his shoes and the beer from Pierre’s, he noticed a lone shack on the beach. Before he had time to question further, Elliott stepped out and Derek bit back a groan. Trying to scurry away unnoticed was no use, as the farmer was a few yards away from his doorstep at that point.

“Farmer Derek!” the man sang cheerily. His long red hair – admittedly gorgeous – flowed behind him in the wind as he approached. “Why, what a tragic sight to see your poor arm in such low health.” Derek stuffed back an eye roll. Out of all the people who would take his avoidance, he doubted Elliott would keep this exchange brief. “What in Yoba’s good name happened to you? I know some excellent physical therapy techniques for you to try once you get that cast off! In fact, I have a contact in the city-“

“Thanks, Elliott, but I promise I’ll be just fine,” he interjected gently. He forced a wide smile on his face to hopefully disguise his frustration, and thankfully, Elliott grinned back. The man laid a hand on his good shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It was kind, and despite his reservations towards the man, he relished in the touch and felt his posture relax.

“Of course you will.” Then he sighed and slid his hand off the farmer’s shoulder, twisting back to look at his house. “I’ve been working on my novel all day, but each time I touch the pen to paper, my brain seems to atrophy before me. I’m hopeful that a nice stroll will help to stretch the muscles of my mind.” Immediately, Derek saw his out.

“Well don’t let me keep you then! Gotta get those uh... juices flowing.” _Brilliant,_ his mind quipped. _A true connoisseur of conversation, you are._ Elliott just laughed again in that annoyingly musical way that didn’t sound completely genuine. Derek had reached the end of his attention span with the man and forced one last smile before walking back into town. He glanced back at his phone and cursed when he read: 4:56PM. He hurried through town square, wincing slightly with each step but choosing to ignore it. He reached the bridge between the main part of town and JojaMart just as Shane was crossing it. The man stopped and took in Derek’s appearance with a quick rake of his green eyes, before quirking a brow.

“You... know I know where your farm is, right? I could’ve gotten there myself?” Derek was desperately trying to reroute his emotions from frustrated at Elliott, panicked at running late, to relieved and conversational for Shane. His mouth opened and closed awkwardly before his tongue found its bearings.

“N-no- ah, well yeah- but- I mean, I was needing to go into town and by the time I was done, it was a few minutes to five, so I figured...” He shrugged vaguely. Shane seemed to bite back a smile as he gestured to Derek’s feet.

“You always go into town barefoot?” That’s why his trot here had hurt; he’d forgotten to put his shoes back on when he was too preoccupied tearing away from Elliott.

“O-oh! No, I was just at the beach...” He plopped down roughly on the cobblestone of the town square and fumbled with his socks, trying to hook his toes in with the one hand he had left and instead ended up flinging it out of his own grasp. He growled in frustration and was about to crawl over to it when Shane put a hand out to stop him.

“Christ...” the man mumbled, but that smile had broken through to slightly pull at one corner of his mouth. “You owe me big time for this,” Shane grumbled, green eyes piercing his with an unreadable emotion in them.

“I-I bought us some beer?” He asked instead of said as he pointed to the grocery bag. This time, Shane’s smile graced both sides of his mouth as he nodded.

“That’ll do.” He sat in front of Derek, lifting both feet to rest on each of his knees as he helped the farmer put on his socks, then his shoes. As he tied the laces, Derek noticed that the gentle brush of fingertips on his bare skin and the warmth of Shane being so close had procured a furious blush that was painfully obvious on his pale skin. He couldn’t look at Shane at all, as the embarrassment ate at him. Over a week ago, he hated this man’s guts, and now he was red in the face as his shoes were tied for him as if he were a toddler.

Shane finished and gave one of his ankles a curt pat to indicate he was done. Derek shot to his feet a bit too quickly, stumbling before Shane hastily grabbed his right shoulder to steady him.

“Geez, man. You sure you haven’t already dipped into that beer?” This made Derek laugh and finally find the courage to look the man in the eye with his wide grin stretching across his face. He saw genuine amusement dancing in Shane’s eyes, before he gestured ahead of them. “Come on, let’s get you home, farmer.”

* * *

“I’ll be right back out, just gonna pop these in the fridge for later, okay?” They were back on the farm, Derek heading up the porch steps. Shane nodded, and the farmer ducked inside. He had a mini fridge that he’d bought from Pierre’s, and the beer was the only thing in it so far besides some leftovers from Marnie’s dinner. He shut it and wandered back outside, before realizing Shane’s attire. “Uh- You sure you don’t want to run home and change or something? I’d hate to get your uniform dirty.” He also couldn’t help the scowl that was on his face, the mere sight of Joja still disgusting him to his core. Shane didn’t seem to catch – or at least, misinterpret – his look, though. Honestly, Shane probably looked at his uniform the same way. He thumbed the fabric of the shirt with a thoughtful grimace.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” For some reason, Derek’s mouth decided to move without explicit permission from his brain.

“O-or you can just borrow a change of clothes,” he blurted out. “We’re like the same size.” He was mentally face palming so hard at this point, he was sure Shane would hear the sound of the heel of his hand striking his skin. Shane scoffed and huffed a small laugh.

“Maybe length wise, but not”—he raised both of his arms outward from either side of him—“you know... width wise.” Derek smirked, feigning offense.

“Damn, Shane. You callin’ me fat?” he chortled. Shane rolled his eyes.

“Not _you,_ dumbass.” Derek shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“You’re not fat, Shane. You have broad shoulders and big biceps, sure, but that’s not _fat._ ” As soon as the words left his mouth, Derek was wishing the ground would open up beneath him. Surely actual Hell would be better than realizing what he’d just said to a man who had just barely let him crawl out of enemy territory into a tentative... friendship? Is that what they were now? Friends? It was weird to picture. He actually didn’t see Shane calling _anyone_ his friend, or anyone calling Shane theirs. He was ripped from his thoughts to see Shane _blushing._

“Okay whatever, sure,” he mumbled. Derek turned swiftly on his heel and invited him inside. His house was so small that there was no separation of bedroom and living room, so Shane shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot while Derek dug out a clean pair of black gym shorts and a black tee. He tossed them over to Shane, who caught them with a lightning reflex that made Derek wonder if he’d ever played sports.

“Bathroom’s through there,” he pointed to the only door in the house. Shane nodded and closed the door behind him wordlessly. Derek sat on his bed and put his face in his hand, letting the tension and embarrassment roll off him. The farmer was seemingly extroverted in his mission to attract friends and quality time, but in truth, he always had introverted tendencies which meant he got quickly drained in the company of a lot of strangers or people he wasn’t yet comfortable with. He knew he was almost at his limit.

Shane stepped out of the bathroom and Derek jerked his head up and sucked in a breath. The black shirt brought out the purple hue in his hair and was stretched across his broad chest and the sleeves showcased that Derek had been right about the man’s arms. Shane was tugging awkwardly at the material by his stomach, and he noticed that his belly and sides were soft; something that Shane was obviously insecure about but was honestly attractive. _Yoba, I’m gonna climb another tree and hope I hit my head this time,_ he thought, miserably.

He forced himself to tear his eyes away and recover, his limit approaching more rapidly by the minute. He lightly slapped his thigh with his good arm as he rose from the bed.

“Let’s get to it.” Derek’s tone came out more curt than he intended. He cleared his throat, as if that were the problem. He heard Shane follow him out to the yard and tried not to think about the eyes on him. “All right, so I’m pretty much just having trouble clearing the branches and rocks on my own.” Shane moved up beside him, looking at the debris. He grunted as if he’d made up his mind and then stooped to pick up the pickaxe Derek had left out. The farmer reached and picked up the axe in his right hand, earning a confused look from Shane.

“What are you doing with that?” He asked.

“I’m gonna do the branches,” Derek replied, tilting his head curiously.

“And just how do you expect to do that?” Shane was smirking as he hefted the pickaxe to lay on his right shoulder, muscles bulging. _Goddamn it, I’m hopeless,_ he cried internally. “You can’t even steady a swing with one arm. With your luck, you’d take out your own foot.” The farmer dropped the tool and scoffed, but more out of helplessness than agitation.

“I can’t just sit here while you do the work,” he mumbled, swinging his right arm out and bringing it back with a thump on his thigh.

“Relax, dude, that’s what I’m here for.” Shane’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard it, besides when he was talking to his goddaughter. Something in his chest tugged with warmth and he bit his bottom lip, as if the emotion was threatening to spill from his mouth.

“Okay,” he whispered, turning and heading back inside. He stopped and turned back with a muted thrill to see Shane had never looked away. “Just, uh... come in whenever you’re tired, okay? Don’t overwork yourself.” He smiled gently, noticing the setting sun framing Shane in a soft orange light. _Yoba, he’s gorgeous,_ his thoughts intruded. He was so screwed.

* * *

Two hours later, Derek’s guilt of being a couch potato got too much to bear, as he shut the TV off and took the beers out of the fridge, heading outside to sit on the porch. He slid the case back so Shane would have room to sit and the drinks would still be easily accessible. His eyes found his impromptu farmhand and watched his shoulder muscles ripple under a now sweat-soaked shirt as he raised the pickaxe and brought it back down in a clean arc. Not wanting to stare like a creep, he called out, watching as Shane twisted back to look at him, wiping his forearm across his brow. Derek didn’t need to say a word, just open the case under Shane’s watchful eye, and the man got the hint.

The crunch of dirt under sneakers approached closer before Derek heard the small pants coming from Shane. Derek looked up at him as he stood and playfully squinted his eyes accusingly.

“What’d I say about overworking yourself?” Shane let out a breathy laugh at this and gracelessly slumped next to the farmer. The scent of sweat and dirt and cologne was frustratingly intoxicating, and Derek decided he needed alcohol in his system to deal with himself. He passed Shane a beer and grabbed his own, popping the tab.

“I actually enjoyed it,” Shane said with an incredulous edge to his tone. He opened his can with a practiced ease and downed three quarters of it in one go. “Better than the menial tasks Morris shoves at me.” Morris must be his boss, then. Derek let out a small hum and nodded.

“Still... can’t let you kill yourself on my farm in good conscience.” He watched Shane’s expression darken at this, and Derek’s brain began short-circuiting.

“Whatever,” came the gruff reply. He’d definitely hit a nerve, but he wasn’t sure why. He awkwardly fumbled with his can before tipping it back and taking three generous gulps. Shane let out a small huff of amusement and looked like he was about to say something, but decided better of it and finished his drink, grabbing another.

“You did a damn good job, though,” Derek commented. “You do this kinda thing at Marnie’s?” Shane shook his head, pursing his lips to savor his recent sip of beer.

“Nah, I mainly take care of the animals over there.” Derek perked up at that.

“Oh yeah, she’s the livestock gal! I’ve been meaning to ask Robin to build me a coop. I want chickens. Love those little guys.” He nearly fell over when Shane turned and fucking _beamed_ at him.

“Oh yeah? You raise some before?” Derek blushed and shook his head shyly.

“N-no... one of the foster homes had some, though. I would help incubate the eggs, watch them hatch into soft lil’ chicks.” He was grinning widely, as the memories flooded back over him.

“The chickens are my favorite, too. Don’t tell the cows, though,” Shane wiggled his eyebrows as he said this, making Derek laugh. “Charlie’s my best girl. Always comes running to me as soon as I step into the coop.” His smile faltered a bit, as he glanced nervously at Derek. “Sorry, that was a bit lame,” he grumbled, tilting his can back. Derek finished his first beer and grabbed another, shaking his head rapidly as he popped the tab.

“No, no! Not lame at all. You’re the chicken whisperer.” Shane rolled his eyes, smiling again. “You don’t tell them to fuck off, too, do ya?” This earned the farmer a loud laugh that made his heart soar. His green eyes stared into Derek’s with a playful glint.

“Asshole.”

“ _Chicken boy._ ” Shane chuckled again and they bumped shoulders back and forth before Shane grew serious for a moment.

“Sorry for being such a dick when you first came into town,” he sighed heavily. “I don’t, uh... don’t do well with new people. Or people in general, really.” With that, he drained his second can and reached for a third. Derek followed suit, with another curious furrow in his brow.

“Why’s that?” Shane shrugged and grunted noncommittally.

“Don’t need people getting to know me,” he deadpanned.

“What if I want to?” Derek was a bit shocked by his own bluntness, but it was true. Shane had completely pushed aside every notion he’d originally had and turned his emotions upside down. It was strange, but it was also thrilling and almost addictive.

“You don’t.” The gruffness was back in Shane’s voice and his hand was tightening around his beer. Derek remembered that familiar iron grip around the handle of Gus’s mug and felt his mood drop at the thought of Shane lapsing back into that cold behavior he’d just apologized for. Derek searched for words and found them with relative ease.

“Besides, I was no angel to you, either,” he offered.

“I deserved it.”

“You don’t.” Derek felt a spark of pride at thrusting Shane’s own verbal blockade back at him. That grip wasn’t loosening, though.

“You don’t know me,” Shane growled. This was draining, it was time to switch tactics. He sighed and set his beer down, shifting in place to face Shane’s profile. The man was looking at his alcohol, purple hair seemingly black in the lowlight and hanging down in front of his face. Derek decided his new tactic was going to be honesty and perhaps embarrassing the hell out of himself.

“That’s the point, Shane. I want to _get_ to know you. We started off rough, but I’ve met plenty of abrasive people in my life; and you’re the first that I’ve felt like makin’ amends with.” Shane finally lifted his head and turned to look at him like he’d grown a second head. Derek rushed to finish explaining himself. “Because there’s just something _different_ about you. I see it when you’re with Jas... or- or when you talk about fucking _chickens._ ” Shane’s eyes bore into his, searching with a laser-like intensity. Searching for sincerity, maybe. Derek hoped he was finding it. Finally, Shane sighed and his shoulders slumped as he finished yet another drink.

“You’re weird, you know that?” Derek chuckled at that.

“I’ve been called worse.” He looked down at his beer and caught writing in his periphery. “Oh, hey look, Haley signed my cast.” He detached a couple fingers from his can to pull back the sling’s fabric slightly to show him. Shane scoffed lightly, gesturing to the heart.

“Seems like someone might be interested,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Derek laughed and scrunched up the bridge of his nose before shaking his head.

“Nah, she was nice enough but it didn’t seem...” How did he put this nicely?

“Genuine? Intelligent?” Shane offered.

Derek shook his head and lightly nudged the man’s shoulder with his can, snickering. Shane suddenly gave him a playful look before darting inside the house. Derek twisted around in confusion, watching as he brought out his discarded uniform and rummaged in the pants pockets. His face lit up.

“Aha! Perks of living with a kid.” He pulled out a blue marker. “She’s always slipping shit in my pockets since she overheard how much I hate work.” He held the marker at eye level, turning it idly in his fingers. “Says it’ll give me something to remember her by, so I ‘don’t get so sad at Jojo’s’,” he chuckled, using air quotes for the last part.

“She’s precious,” Derek whispered with a smile. Shane looked down at him with a fondness that sent Derek’s heartbeat into overdrive and nodded, before uncapping the marker.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure friends sign casts or some shit, so...” He shrugged and sat back down, facing Derek. The farmer picked up his beer and took a quick gulp before setting it back down and scooching closer, so their knees were touching as they both sat cross-legged. “Hmm,” Shane hummed aloud, thinking. Then, he shifted so he was to Derek’s right, and directly facing the opening of the sling. The red-head felt his breath hitch when Shane leaned in close and began writing on the cast. He seemed to be scribbling for a while.

“Thought your name only had five letters,” Derek said hoarsely. He chastised himself for being such a ball of putty, but Shane just laughed and scooted fucking _closer_.

“Sorry, it’s hard to see,” he mumbled. Shane’s purple hair was so close that Derek could’ve just angled his face downward and been able to kiss the crown of the man’s head. After what felt like years but was likely less than a minute, Shane pulled back. Derek was flustered and redder than the dying sun, but he smiled and forced himself to look his friend in the eye. He hoped he wasn’t imagining the pink that tinged the other man’s cheeks. “Well?” Shane said expectantly. Derek looked at his cast and immediately burst into laughter that rocked his whole body back. Right above Haley’s and written in big, jagged letters:

**_CHICKEN BOY_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also known as: What it really feels like to be asked the same thing over and over and over again.


	5. Magic, Mystery, and Man Crushes

No one had told him he slept through a whole fucking festival on Saturday. He was miffed when he checked his mail. He supposed it was a little bit his fault, though, for letting so many letters rot in there. Flipping through the rest of it, he found a strange blue letter from someone who called themselves a wizard. He briefly recalled somewhere within that muddled splotch of several days before he broke his arm that Lewis had shown him the Community Center. ‘Rat problem’. Was this Rasmodius some sort of stalker? Should he even be going to this tower?

But the loneliness and depression still crushed him and the only cure for Derek in these trying times was good ol’ fashioned poor judgment. So, his mind made up, he watered his crops and set off toward the southern exit, surprised when his cat – Sniffles, because he was always twitching his nose – fell into step with him. He whistled pleasantly as he walked and stopped when he spotted Leah sitting by the water. She must’ve heard his tune, as she was already turning and waving at him. Her eyes widened predictably and he decided that while it drew attention, he hated this cast with his entire being. Well, perhaps aside from the part of the cast that contained blue marker.

“Oh gosh, Derek. Already hurting yourself, huh?” Her voice was soothing and her hair beautiful as ever; Elliott’s shade, but with a more natural and effortless appeal. If he was honest, Leah and Emily were the two most attractive girls that he’d met in town thus far. Not just in appearance, but also for their tenderness and genuine care. Leah with her expressive art forms and Emily with her aura fascination and easy-going cadence. He flapped his right hand nonchalantly as he drew closer.

“Just havin’ a little too much fun.” Which, Derek decided, was actually the most truthful answer he’d given anyone thus far – outside the trio at the ranch, of course. Leah giggled and asked something no one else had, a pleasant curveball:

“How long will it take to heal?”

“Well it just happened this past weekend and doc says it takes ‘bout six weeks total, so,” he shrugged, meekly. She clicked her tongue and looked sadly at him.

“Well, here,” she bent down and rummaged through her bag, grabbing a pen and tearing off a scrap of paper to scribble on. “Here’s my number.” She folded the note into his outstretched right hand and he noticed with amusement that her face was a bit pinker than the sun could be blamed for. “Call me if you need any help... or, um... anything!” She stumbled over her words awkwardly and it endeared him to no end. He nodded and thanked her with a tender squeeze to her shoulder, before waving goodbye and heading to the tower once again.

* * *

_You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,_ he grumbled internally. He was standing at the front door of a tall building that looked too wizard-y to not be suspicious as hell in the middle of the woods. How had this not been mentioned to him?

“Oh, yeah, welcome to town, Derek,” he whispered bitterly under his breath. “Don’t mind the ominous structure in the woods or the lunatic who thinks he’s fresh out of Hogwarts and sends you fucking _mail._ ” He took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” came the immediate reply. The voice just sounded like any other middle-aged man, and he steeled himself as he turned the knob and entered. As he crossed the threshold, the door creaked closed behind him. Derek had a strange feeling that this dangerous endeavor was going to leave him with more than a broken arm.

A man in long, purple robes stood over a large cauldron of green, bubbling liquid with a book in hand. Derek really did step into a goddamned storybook. Or maybe he’d fallen and hit his head somewhere in the forest and was dreaming this scene up while waiting for someone to find him unconscious among the grass.

“Derek Matthews,” the man hummed, not looking up from the page he was scouring.

“In the flesh and blood,” he croaked awkwardly. He used his right fist to clear his throat. The book snapped shut and Rasmodius finally turned to face him, an amused smile flickering on his face.

“Do you know who I am?” It seemed rhetorical. Derek had read the letter, obviously. Was this some test he was meant to pass in order to keep his pitiful life?

“Not a serial killer, I hope,” he joked. The older man snorted at this and shook his head.

“I see,” Derek heard him mumble. The hell does that mean? The farmer tracked his movements as he pulled another book from a long shelf and wet his thumb before flicking through the pages. “What you spotted in that dilapidated building was no rat”—his eyes twinkled as they met Derek’s—“but a Junimo.” _Oh, sure. Makes perfect sense. I have definitely heard of those before; thank you, psychotic woodland man._ Derek had half a mind to bolt for the door behind him when Rasmodius must’ve sensed his discomfort and sighed. “Let me demonstrate...”

Derek watched in abject horror as the man stood in front of some pentagram shape and chanted words from his book. Before he had time to object, the creature he thought he’d hallucinated in the Community Center was in the center of the chalk, peeping and wiggling its arms.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek whispered, closing his eyes. “Fun dream. Time to wake up, now.” He pinched his thigh harshly, twisting the skin.

“Open your eyes, boy.” The suddenly rough tone had his eyelids springing open in fear, but the man’s expression was still soft, if humored. “It’s never easy to digest the first time. But there is no secret that magic runs through this entire valley. Have you been to the mines yet?”

Derek shook his head numbly. Mines? What mines? Rasmodius chuckled.

“The monsters you face in those caves are a thousand times harsher than the amicable Junimo, I assure you. But what interests me is that the Junimos chose to reveal themselves to _you._ Also, as you know, they seem to have taken residence in that building. It is safe to assume they want to help us restore it, for it is an old relic of this town’s past. These creatures are also known to be preternaturally one with nature, so I do not doubt that a farmhand who deals with nature’s gift of life and growth, such as yourself, would spark their interest. That is, if you will help them.” Derek absorbed his words as best he could, tapping his fingers idly on his right thigh. Yes, yes, of course. Apples with arms that double as house flippers and are only visible to certain people. This was all on the brochure for Pelican Town, surely.

“Help them... how?” Derek couldn’t believe he was indulging this, but if this was a dream, then he might as well, right?

“The scroll you saw in the Community Center.”

“The one with gibberish all over it?”

“Ah, that’s where I come in,” Rasmodius wagged a confident finger. “You see, those meaningless scribbles were actually the language of those critters. Therefore, I’ve spent my day whipping up a concoction to make your entire body more in entwined with the natural world, just as the Junimo. I’m confident that this potion, along with the Junimo’s gravitation towards you, will open up a line of communication and enable you to work in tandem.” He turned and grabbed a mug, filling it with the liquid from the cauldron, which had thankfully cooled enough so that it wasn’t bubbling. He stretched his arms, offering the cup to Derek who eyed it suspiciously.

“I don’t know what life lessons _your_ mother taught you, but mine certainly warned me against drinking strange beverages from men in strange towers who claim to be magical wizards.” Rasmodius huffed and considered Derek’s expression for a moment before downing the contents of the mug. His purple eyes turned deep green, but he remained still and calm.

“It has a hallucinogenic effect while it acquaints you properly with the forest. I’ve sampled this potion so many times that it doesn’t affect me as much anymore. There are no other side effects.” His eyes went back to their normal purple hue. He refilled the mug, offering it again. “Trust me.”

Derek shot him another perplexed look, but what other choice did he have? He gingerly took the mug from the ‘wizard’ and brought it to his lips. _Fuck it,_ was the last thought that ran through his mind before he chugged.

Immediately, he heard a dull clank that must’ve been the mug hitting the ground, but he couldn’t see past the lush greenery of trees that filled his vision. He saw flowers shooting from the ground and blooming in bright flashes of color. Birds sang in symphony and the sound of flowing water soothed his soul. He smelled _everything_ around him. He even smelled a rabbit, despite never having known what a hell a rabbit smells like in the first place. He felt the wind in his hair and a mild charge of electricity in the clouds above his head that signaled a storm. As he inhaled, the scent of flower melted into a sweet taste on his tongue. Before he knew it, all five of his senses were swaddled in stimulation, heightened to levels he didn’t think humanly possible.

After what seemed like hours, the visions slowly faded and he came to in the man’s arms. His knees must have buckled. He was quiet, unsure of what he should say or do. This was the longest lucid dream he’d ever had, and it was making him worry that he _wasn’t_ just asleep somewhere.

“Go on, farmer. Talk to them,” the man’s voice whispered. Suddenly, he was back in front of the door of the tower. He stumbled back in shock. Had he never went in? Then it hit him like a semi-truck. He looked around at the woods and realized his senses were left in a heightened state. Perhaps not as strong as they were during the acid trip, but significantly more so than when he’d left his house today.

He felt his legs carry him through the woods, through his farm, and up to the Community Center. He hadn’t even registered he was walking there until he almost smacked into the door.

Stepping inside, he peered into the room he’d seen the scroll in. Cautiously, he bent down, already suspecting it would be different. Still, he gasped as the perfectly legible words and pictures stood before him. Crops that were actually planted on his farm already.

“Okay,” he whispered, with a tone of finality. “I need a drink.”

**Shane**

While Derek was getting drugged by the wizard, Shane was at work, getting drugged by the lovely Joja Corporation. He grunted as he lifted boxes over his head to slide on the top shelf. He heard footsteps and the tell-tale swishing of a broom to indicate that Sam was near. He had made small conversation with Shane in the break room earlier, sharing that he’d seen ‘the new farmer with a real messed up arm’.

He chuckled to himself, recalling what Derek had told Sam about the incident. In all honesty, it was cute that he was trying to keep his dignity. _Goddammit,_ he internally scowled. He was very agitated to find that not only was the farmer growing on him as a friend, but he was seeing the boy in other lights, as well. Shane didn’t do feelings. He didn’t do romance. Since Jas’s parents died, there was no point in making strong connections; so he didn’t. But his mind couldn’t seem to pry itself from the image of Derek blushing when they made any form of physical contact, or when Shane wore the farmer’s clothing.

It was nothing, he knew. No sensible human could find his bulging beer belly, crass humor, and general distaste for life attractive. If he had his way, he wouldn’t be around for much longer, regardless. Why spend so much energy worrying about what Derek thought about him, when he’d be cutting himself out of the equation soon?

Finally, 5PM came around and he grunted a goodbye at Sam as he shuffled out. Dark clouds over his head perfectly accompanied his sour mood. Derek hadn’t said anything about needing Shane beyond yesterday, so he figured it was safe to head to the saloon as usual. His knee was acting up today – as it always seemed to do on rainy days – forcing him to walk with a slight limp. He grunted as he pushed the saloon door open and ambled over to his corner. His emotions cycled through shock, anger, and then mild amusement when he spotted a figure at his usual table, only to identify those infamous red curls upon closer inspection.

He caught Gus’s eye, who gave him a nod and a grin, darting off to get him a beer. He slid into a chair across from the farmer, who had his head resting on his right arm. Two empty mugs sat beside him, their bottoms smeared with the dregs of beer. Man, was he a lightweight? It hadn’t seemed so on his porch yesterday.

“Derek,” he said with a snort. He prodded the boy’s arm, which caused him to jolt up in alarm. “Easy, sleeping beauty,” Shane joked with what could barely be considered a smile. Derek smirked and rubbed at his eye.

“Not tired, just a bit out of it.” Shane nodded with an indulgent huff. He could understand that. Derek’s face was serious all of a sudden as he leaned in closer. “Also, don’t go into the tower around your neck of the woods.” He found himself smiling, again. Damn Derek for making him do that too often over the last few days.

“I see you met the wizard. Yeah, like everyone in town knows not to go in there, dude.”

“Well no one gave Derek the fucking memo!” The farmer threw his hand up in the air. Then he brought his voice down to a harsh whisper. “The guy fucking _drugged_ me!” Shane’s eyebrows knit tightly and he felt that weird prickly protective feeling wash over him. He hated that feeling, but not as much as he hated the idea of someone slipping Derek something. Yeah, okay, he’d have to drink these feelings away for sure.

“What?! What do you mean he drugged you?!”

“I don’t know! It was like he showed me this weird apple spirit thing, and then told me to drink something he’d made to”—he made air quotes with his hand—“’be more entwined with the trees’ or some shit and I tripped the hell _out,_ Shane. And now, I can read... things I wasn’t able to in the Community Center-“

“The Community Center? You mean that old lump of rotting wood next to the park?”

“Yes, apparently I’m meant to bring them items and they... I dunno. Fix it up?”

Shane stared at him for what seemed like a full minute before he let out a long sigh and nodded sagely.

“Yeah, I’m taking you to Harvey.” He set his mug down and stood, but Derek waved his hand.

“No, no, there’s no point. Though I like seeing that man’s pretty face, I’m not gonna bug him for something that’ll probably be out of my system by tomorrow. I mean, it’s obviously not poisonous, so what’s the use?” Shane sat down as his mind stuttered over what Derek said about the doctor. He also felt something burning in the pit of his stomach. He knew what the emotion was, but he wasn’t going to give it the time of day. But then his _goddamned mouth:_

“You think Harvey’s pretty?” He immediately forced a laugh to cover up what he’d just blurted. Shit, shit! He needed to come up with an excuse for asking really fast. “You’re gay?” _Not that, fuck._ As he cursed at himself internally, Derek quirked a brow.

“Uh, I’m bi...? That a problem?” Terrific, now he had to reassure his friend that he wasn’t some judgmental, backwater dick. Funny how Shane had wanted that just mere days ago, and now here he was – suddenly spiraling into the exhausting hole of _caring_ about petty appearances. He seemed to get stuck in holes a lot. Shane was choking and coughing on his beer, meanwhile, as he tried to explain himself. Derek signaled to Emily for another drink, which was swiftly brought over.

Yoba, he needed to smooth this over. “N-no, of course not. I mean- you know- me, too.” _Not like that!_ he screamed in his brain. He groaned aloud. Derek _giggled._ Curse this man.

“Had me worried for a sec. So who do you find pretty?” Derek teased. Shane grit his teeth in frustration at the blush he felt spreading across his face.

“No one,” he muttered. It was a lie, and a painful one, at that. Especially when he saw Derek’s smirk falter, but he’d drink away the implications of that, too. So, he plodded on. “I don’t do romance or relationships or any of that shit.”

“What, so you just turn the monkey part of your brain off?” Shane couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the joke, his mind flicking between the cliffs, the bus stop, and the mines. All optimal choices, really.

“No point,” his voice had gone completely flat. Derek sat back with an unreadable expression, sipping his beer methodically. Then, to Shane’s muted surprise, the farmer slammed back the full thing. His face heated up again as he saw stray drops escape and roll down his pale throat. The mug clunked back down as he donned a dizzy sort of smile before standing up and grabbing his wallet from the table.

“That blows,” Derek said sincerely, vaguely swaying on the spot. “Hope you change your mind.” Then, he was gone, leaving a confused and flustered Shane to groan and cradle his head in his arms on the table. Because what the hell did _that_ mean?

“I am so royally _fucked,_ ” he growled into the polished wood.


	6. Fitting In vs. Feeling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2-heart event time! Tweaked a bit, as promised.

He couldn’t figure out why or how, but sometimes Derek just simply lost track of time. He considered himself lucky that it was down to just a few days at a time so far since his move. In the city, he would lose a week or two to the abyss of murky memories and robotic half-living. One time – the worst to date – he’d left in snow only to greet full trees. It had only really started happening after his parents died and it seemed to be stress-induced, but that was as far as he allowed himself to dig into the mystery.

So when he noticed with a start that it was already Friday again, he was at least grateful that he hadn’t zombie-d his way through the hangout with Sam and... the other names he was supposed to be recalling at the moment.

He only had two coherent memories to pull from his jellied brain. One was on Wednesday when he’d decided to go explore those mines that the wizard had mentioned. When he got there, however, an old man who claimed to be some sort of video game adventurer took one look at his sling and turned him away with a scoff. _Fuck you, too, then, Eyepatch,_ he’d internally seethed.

The second was not attached to a day but was more of a mental checklist he’d been keeping to remember what he’d given to the Community Center since Tuesday’s incident. So far, he’d completed a bundle – with a head start on several others – and had strangely felt more pride than when he pulled his first ripe parsnip from the ground. Maybe Shane was right about him needing to see Harvey.

Speaking of which, the farmer didn’t seem to recall seeing that grump’s face lately. Surely even zombie-Derek would remember, right? He petulantly retorted to himself that he didn’t care. They were barely friends and the red-head had obviously been in some sort of mood, anyway.

As he watered his crops and fed Sniffles, he looked over his land and allowed an appreciation for the work Shane had gotten done the other day. Once his arm healed a bit more, he could get to some of the branches and eventually he’d have space for more crops. Or even that coop. And damn it, it was getting to be pathetic how easily his thoughts circled back to the same man – a broken record taunting him. He shook his head roughly, as if that would dislodge whatever unwelcome conclusions his now-very-awake brain would try to draw from that.

It was still late morning, and now that his meager chores were done, he figured he had some time to kill. There were still people in town that he hadn’t met, and since he had come back from the dead of his mind, now was as good a time as ever.

The walk to town was getting easier and easier, he realized, as he fidgeted with his long sleeves in the warming sun. He picked up a leek and a dandelion he saw on the way and whistled a pleasant tune while he walked. He’d always loved singing but had been more private with it after losing his parents. No one in the foster homes wanted to hear him talk, let alone emit anything musical. So the ‘o’ of his lips slowly collapsed as he drew nearer to the town, and he took a moment to truly let himself get reacquainted with sentience before exploring.

He realized that he hadn’t been further right than the saloon so far, so he deemed that a nice place to start. Immediately, he’d already spotted someone he didn’t recognize. He was a tall and muscle-y brunette with a chiseled jawline and gorgeous, challenging brown eyes. The obvious jock was leaning against the fence of what looked to be a dog’s yard, idly tossing a gridball up into the air and catching it in his left hand. _A southpaw,_ Derek mused.

“Hey, farm boy. Was starting to think a hermit had moved in.” His voice was pleasant; the proceeding wink was not. It wasn’t the warm and almost suggestive one the cute doctor had given, it was more condescending; egotistical. _You haven’t even met him, you ass,_ he chided himself. Jealousy was a bitch, and that physique was certainly one to envy.

“Just been absorbed on the farm,” he replied with a small smile. “And babyin’ this thing,” he added, lifting his sling slightly. The stranger sucked in a sympathetic breath and looked at him with pity.

“Ouch, didn’t realize playing in the dirt was that dangerous. Gridball can get pretty fierce, too, y’know?” He flashed Derek a smirk that showed off his too-perfect, white teeth. The farmer blinked slowly, realizing that this might be the very first time someone had tried to initiate a pissing contest over a broken bone. He decided he was about ready to move onward now, gay thoughts be damned.

“Er- yeah, I guess. I’ll see you around, um...?”

“Alex,” the jock said, tossing that fucking ball with practiced ease again. “See ya ‘round, farm boy.”

“It’s Derek.” His voice was more curt than usual.

“Sure,” Alex shrugged indifferently.

* * *

“Deja vu,” he muttered under his breath, as his feet passed the bus stop on his left for the second time that day. After the lusty yet lackluster meeting with Alex, he’d discovered the library where he’d met Gunther, a jolly cowboy-esque man dressed in blue who was upset to inform him that the artifact and gemstone museum had gotten ransacked last fall and cleared of its old treasures. Derek gave a tentative promise that he’d bring over anything of interest if he found it.

Then, he’d properly met Penny, the red-headed mousy girl that had pried him and Shane apart what seemed like many moons ago. She told him she lived in the trailer near Alex’s dog with her mother, Pam. Pam, the other residential alcoholic. Mysteries were unraveling before him.

He greeted Jas and was ecstatic to see she didn’t hide from him anymore. Maybe she’d accepted him into her No Parents club. Her little friend turned out to be Vincent, who didn’t seem to pay him much mind. That was fine, though, the kid was too focused on what looked to be a math worksheet, anyway. Derek shuddered internally; he’d always hated math.

Penny was polite but understandably a bit wary of him after the violence she’d witnessed not long ago. It was fair – wasn’t like anyone else knew he and Shane had made up. After the conversation got a bit too awkward for his tastes, he waved everyone goodbye – making extra sure to catch Jas’s eye and give her one of his genuine smiles.

From there, he’d met Clint and was _thrilled_ to learn he could make his shitty tools better for the low, low price of exploring a place his broken arm barred him from. The universe was really having a good ol’ laugh at him today.

When he’d gotten back to his farm, he washed up and waited for Sam to text. That was how he ended up fast-walking at an over eager pace toward town at a little past eight in the evening, his phone still grasped in his hand from where he’d read the message. He worried about coming off as an excitable puppy, but then he remembered Sam’s own demeanor when they’d first met and figured it wouldn’t be unnatural.

When he finally got into the saloon, he was embarrassed to be a bit out of breath. How long would it be before his pitiful body finally got into shape? He spotted Sam’s blonde hair immediately as the boy had obviously been keeping an eye out for him. They tilted their chins up to greet each other as Derek strolled over with a grin.

Shane wasn’t in his corner. Sentience came with an annoying amount of observation.

“Hey, man. Glad you could make it,” Sam grinned.

“Yeah, thanks for the invite!”

“Don’t mention it,” the blonde said with a chuckle, clapping his right shoulder. “Come on, let me introduce you.” He let himself be led into the pool room. Arcade games lined one of the walls and a purple-haired girl was stationed at one, beating at the controls like she could pummel the machine into obedience. There was also a tall, pale boy with black hair and even darker clothes. Derek remembered his emo phase in early high school. He suddenly wondered how old these three were – he wasn’t exactly feeling as youthful anymore.

Then, the girl apparently lost the boxing match with her video game and cursed loudly. She turned with frustration still etched in her face, but then froze when she saw Derek standing there with an amused smile on his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sam interjected.

“Abigail, Seb, this is Derek. You know, old man Matthews’s grandson.” Derek raised his eyebrows slightly. How’d he known that? How small was this town?

“Call me Sebastian,” the goth boy muttered. But his eyes were still kind, if a bit apprehensive.

“Sheesh, what happened to your arm?” Abigail asked, almost fascinated somehow. It was this odd tone – one that broke the monotony of polite, obligatory concern – that made him decide he wanted to be genuine friends with this group. He was prepared to roll the word salad dice in his brain to churn out another brilliant quip when he felt himself shrug internally before blurting out:

“Was tying up a tire swing and a crow spooked me out of the tree.”

The three of them froze for a minute before Sam burst out into laughter along with Abigail, while Sebastian hid a smile and lined his pool cue up for a shot.

“Guess you won’t be able to play, then. You can still watch me kick Sam’s ass.”

“Nuh-uh! Not tonight, Sebby. I’ve been practicing,” the blonde shot back as he left Derek’s side to snatch up his own pool stick.

“I told you to quit calling me that.” His tone was affectionate even if his words were frustrated and Derek found a permanent and easy smile plastered on his face as his sunk into a nearby couch, swiftly joined by Abigail.

“I was almost sad to hear someone was moving into that old farm. I used to love exploring those overgrown fields.” He was taken aback, but she was smiling and didn’t seem underhandedly malicious in her confession. He assumed maybe she just was a bit aloof.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he chortled.

“I forgive you,” she teased as she bumped playfully into his right shoulder. Was she flirting with him? “You seem friendly enough. Then again, I might be more bummed if another old-timer had moved in.” He snickered at that and shrugged his eyebrows with a self-deprecating look.

“Well twenty-eight isn’t exactly young.”

“Only four years older than me. You got two on Sam and one on Seb,” she lifted her shoulders nonchalantly. Guess he’d been wrong after all. He looked back to the boys playing pool. Sebastian was obviously smoking Sam out of the water.

“He dresses like I did when I was fifteen.” Abigail burst into laughter again, squeezing his shoulder as she composed herself enough to speak.

“Holy shit, I’m totally telling him you said that.”

“Wh- no, hey! I just met him, I don’t wanna get on his bad side.” He turned to face her, a look of mock hurt on his face. It brought her to giggles again.

“No, no. We tease him all the time, it’s fine. He claims it’s a good look for the band, too.” Derek’s eyebrows raised.

“Band?”

“Well, sort of. We don’t really have a style yet... or a name... or a singer.” He laughed as she crossed her arms and pretended to pout. “Look, okay, we’re a _band_ of people, so it’s still technically a _band._ ” He tried to control his giggles, and she was losing her faux-offended composure to a smile, too. His confidence surged at this, and combined with his earlier internal confession that he truly wanted to be a part of their circle, he blurted out:

“I used to sing.” She gave him a weird look like he’d just spoken a different language and snickered.

“’Used to’? You bump your head and forget how to carry a tune or something?” He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue playfully at her.

“ _No,_ I’m just more... reserved now.”

“Why?” Uh-oh, time to backpedal – this conversation was getting too intimate for a first meet. No matter his need to fit in, he suspected spilling his guts wasn’t the way to do it. He gave her a small shrug to avoid the question casually. “Well, you have _got_ to show us what you can do. We really, really need a singer and if we have to find some rando’ from the city, it’ll ruin the vibe we have going.”

“Thought you said the band didn’t have a distinct style yet?” he teased.

“Vibe is different than _style,_ ” she sighed, as if explaining to a toddler. Four years never felt more distancing. He shook off the confusion and turned his attention back to the two boys playing pool in front of them – one who had already seemed to seamlessly fold him into their routine, and one who was a complete enigma. He wondered what they’d think of Abigail’s offer.

“Sure, yeah – if you three really want. Just, um, text me,” he mumbled, hoping a nervous blush hadn’t snuck up on his face. When she handed him her phone to put his number in, their fingers brushed and he felt a platonic rush of affection for her. He stole a glance at the other two again.

He hoped they’d accept him.

* * *

It was a little after 10PM when he exited the saloon. He had only had one beer after everything was said and done, having gotten too engrossed in conversation to really care if there was a mug in his hand. He’d ended up getting along with them really well; even playing a joke round of one-handed pool with Sebastian that made even the brooder laugh. Fucker still won. They were also equally as eager as Abigail to see if “the new farmer boy had a set of pipes” and they said band practice was every Sunday at Sam’s house. He pretended he wasn’t internally panicking at how Sunday was not nearly far enough away to plant a batch confidence seeds in his heart’s soil. Oh, well, that seemed like a problem for future Dumbass.

Derek was lost in thought, smiling like an idiot at the ground, before he realized he had entered the woods by Marnie’s ranch. It wasn’t an odd route, but it wasn’t one he took often and he tried not to think about why his autopilot legs might’ve carried him here.

He would’ve been successful, too, had he not then spotted the object of his futile suppression sitting on the dock by the pond with only the company of a lantern’s soft ring of pale light and a six-pack. He didn’t know if he wanted to go over there, but his damned legs hadn’t ever stopped moving and soon he was too close to go unnoticed.

**Shane**

He hated going to the saloon on Fridays. It was the busiest day out of the week and even though he was still a background image at best, the sounds and _laughter_ grate on him like sandpaper. So he’d bought a case of beer from his workplace (funny how one of the reasons he drank was also the enabler) before ambling to Cindersap. The narrow, old dock was one of his few favorite places, next to the chicken coop and perhaps the bath house when Alex wasn’t infesting it.

He found a somber sort of comfort in looking at the still water and imagining it rushing to fill his lungs like the embrace of an old friend. He thought about that quite a lot lately, more so than he might have a few seasons ago. But when you were drowning, the only place to go _was_ down. Unless you kicked to tread water, of course – but his kicker days were long over, his knee reminded him. He knew it was taking its toll on Marnie, as well. She tried not to show it, but she’d had her migraine medication filled early for the past two months in a row and she’d stopped staying up to make sure he got home safe. It was fair, don’t get him wrong. More than fair. In fact, he wished she’d never done that in the first place.

Jas, on the other hand, was blissfully ignorant. As it should be. She had enough on her little plate as is, and the sooner he could melt from the forefront of her world, the easier it would be for that entire household.

He was about to sip on his fourth beer when he heard footsteps to his left. He jerked around to see the farmer, bathed in subtle moonlight, looking every bit as startled as he was; like _Shane_ had been the one sneaking up on _him_. He hadn’t seen the red-head at all since Tuesday, save for a couple glances in town. It made him shiver to recall, though. Even when he’d seen Derek, it didn’t quite seem like it’d truly been him. Like someone had borrowed his skin to walk around in. It was too familiar, so Shane drank those images away as he did best.

Tonight, though, there was life in his admittedly pretty eyes, and that was enough for Shane to wonder what it’d be like to have someone to stare at the lake with him.

“Want a beer?” Shane grabbed a fresh one from the six-pack and offered it in an outstretched hand.

“Yeah, actually,” Derek’s voice was soft, contemplative, as he strode over and sat to Shane’s left on the dock. Derek popped open his beer but only took a small sip before he held it and locked his eyes on the water, just as Shane had been doing a moment ago. It was almost funny how it fell exactly into place. He would’ve laughed if his mind hadn't immediately short-circuited, noticing their thighs were touching on the narrow landing.

They sat in silence for what could’ve been minutes, hours, days – Shane was too dissociated to tell. He didn’t care about much at all, not even the beer in his hand. This was a feeling he chased more than the feeling of being smashed. When you were smashed, you were still painfully trapped in yourself no matter if you liked the ride. Being drunk made everything fuzzy, but being detached kept the resolution of the image, while still giving him that numbing he so craved.

“Gus’s fireplace missed you,” Derek’s voice was far away. Farther than Shane could bother to try and reach, so he stayed silent. “Think I did, too.” And suddenly he was violently jammed back into his clothes. Fuck you, farmer. Wait, what? He looked over at Derek, who seemed to be just as shocked as him, like he hadn’t given his mouth the green light to say that. He didn’t even have being drunk as an excuse, either. In that moment, Shane pitied him.

“Don’t go saying shit you don’t mean,” he grumbled, draining another third of his beer in one go. He chanced another look at Derek and immediately regretted it. Those ice blue eyes bore into his with an intensity that made Shane itch. It was like he was being searched.

“So why didn’t you go?” Derek’s voice was soft but guarded, like he was hiding something behind that question that Shane was too drunk and stupid to decipher. He decided not to answer, and instead broke away from that uncomfortable stare and looked out over the water again. He drained his can and as the last of the alcohol hit him, his lips loosened.

“Do you ever feel like you’re stuck in a rut?” Shane ran a surprisingly steady hand through his hair, sighing. “Like you’re doomed to the same cycle of constant failure?” His thumb fiddled with the tab of the empty can. “Nowadays, the rut feels more like a bottomless pit. I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to climb out of it. Some days, I’m not sure I even want to.” He pulled his left knee to his chest and realized he’d strangely been rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly while he emotion-vomited onto the farmer. He crushed the empty in his fist and steeled himself for another look at Derek, to see the man slam down _an entire can._ He said the words he’d held hostage on the man’s porch the other day. “Quite a fast drinker, huh? Man after my own heart.” Wow, he was drunk.

“Thought you didn’t have one of those,” Derek said, a faint smile in his voice. Shane hummed noncommittally. It got quiet again for a long stretch before Derek’s whisper drifted over. “Yeah, I feel like that every fuckin’ day.” Shane turned to look at him, preparing an eye roll, but ended up getting sucked in by that stare again. It wasn’t intense and alive as it had been before, though. Now, Shane could see the death that swam there; the bags underneath that he hadn’t bothered to notice before, framed in a spotlight of shining moon. He hated this look even more than the intrusive one. This was starting to look too frustratingly familiar.

He had a fleeting wish that his hand were holding that gray towel underneath his sink cabinet, so that he could throw it over Derek’s face, too.


	7. Congrats, You're Older

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: *points at self harm tag* brief and not graphic

Shane’s baseline was moody, at best. But sooner or later, like clockwork, the looming shadow of his depression would expand around him to constrict the color out of his vision. In the brief moments of lucidity after an episode, he could sometimes call himself out on the bullshit he’d let his mind feed him. Because it was during these times that he twisted words, glances, body language, and every hyper detail into tight knots that took up space in his stomach. It left little room for appetite and little room for much more than blind grief.

He not only mourned his best friends, he’d found, but he also mourned his old self. The one that had a promising future – concrete and obtainable plans to make something out of himself on a professional gridball team. As the rain outside forced him to strap his worn-out brace to his aching left knee, he bitterly wondered if his old man would still be able to look him in the eye if the bones in his leg and in his spirit hadn’t been shattered that day.

He crawled into his work uniform like a roach into an unwelcoming home, not bothering to even enter the bathroom at all. The threat of reflective glass alone was enough to outweigh any lingering hygiene concerns. He’d been called into work on a goddamn _Saturday._ And not just any Saturday, but his fucking birthday. He wasn’t much of a celebrator by any means, but Gus always gave him a free pint and it was enough of an excuse to get away with drinking pretty much all day with minimal judgment. Now he’d be celebrating with another grueling shift and it was almost easy to forget the anniversary of his own subpar existence.

Jas was already at the table and eating breakfast with Marnie when he slunk out of his bedroom. Marnie’s experienced gaze sized up his deteriorating state with one glance and Shane didn’t have to spare a look of his own to see her frustrated expression dance in front of his vision.

“I made you a plate,” she said simply. It seemed it was easy for her to forget today, too.

The knots constricted. “Not hungry.”

Jas piped up, “Are you getting sick again, Uncle Shane?”

He winced, feeling like a man getting kicked when he was already down. Lying protected children, though, and Jas needed protection. He was a shit godfather, but he could at least give her this. Protection from the gruesome details of what rot behind his eyes; of what culminated in invisible words. He nodded mutely and she gave him one of her sad looks. He wondered at what age it would evolve into pity.

“At least take some to work with you,” Marnie sighed. “Something substantial for your lunch?” He really wanted to say no, knowing he’d feel guilty as soon as he tipped the contents into a blue bin later. But he had no fight left in him and didn’t need to see her extract a familiar pill bottle when she thought she was being subtle.

“Okay.” He clumsily scraped his plate of food into a Tupperware container and dropped it into a lunchbox.

Maybe if he was lucky, he would get the luxury of being a silent spectator today; solemnly watching his body carry out familiar motions as many different clocks wound down.

* * *

He found Jas’s card later that day when he squatted in an aisle to begin unloading cases of canned vegetables and felt something flexible digging into the flesh of his thigh. Confused, he stood and drew from his pocket a blue card with a cartoon farm graphic on the front. His internal smile couldn’t transfer onto his face, but he did soften considerably as he opened it to find carefully drawn figures on the inside. She’d drawn three people of varying heights and a lone chicken, labeling them accordingly: AUNT MARNIE, ME, UNKLE SHANE, CHARLEY. The spelling was what got his lips to finally connect with his heart, brain be damned. He didn’t deserve his goddaughter’s love, but he ate it up anyway with what little stomach room he had left.

He slipped it back into his pocket carefully, the lingering fondness seeming to be the gateway to receive the blissful detachment he craved. He buzzed in his own skin, not recognizing his hands as his own and enjoying every minute of it. He didn’t even notice the muddy boots that entered his vision until a cleared throat slammed him down to Earth. Shane needed a moment to swallow the agitation and put on a somewhat convincing customer service mask.

When he looked up, though, he realized he wasn’t being approached by some errant shopper. Derek stood in front of him, smiling and balancing a plate covered in saran wrap on his hip. Then, said plate was being thrust his way, and the recognizable hue of red made the knots in his belly suddenly scooch to make room.

“Happy birthday, dude. I had no idea what you like besides beer, so I hope you don’t mind that I grilled Gus. Can’t believe they made you come in on your fuckin’ birthday.” His tone was tense as the last sentence fell from his lips, and Shane felt his shoulders shrug as he stood and gingerly accepted the gift.

“Not a big deal,” he mumbled. “Same as any other day.” Then, he realized people typically were grateful in these situations, so he hastily added: “Um, these are my favorite, though. So thank you...” Derek’s eyes clouded with something unrecognizable as he nodded slowly.

“Not much of a birthday guy myself but...” He shrugged his one good shoulder. “You deserve way more than Clorox air and”—he looked at the stock in front of Shane with a disgusted grimace—“lab-grown produce.” On any other day, Shane might’ve chuckled at that.

Instead, he huffed in agitation. “You don’t know what the hell I deserve.” Derek narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, when the hair on the back of Shane’s neck rose. It was as if Morris carried his own thunderstorm-like electrical charge, and the plate of pepper poppers was being lifted from his hands.

“Shane,” the cold voice chastised. “You know food isn’t allowed on the floor.”

“That’s his birthday gift,” Derek snapped, snatching the plate back. The farmer sized up his boss, seeming to get even more agitated when his eyes landed on the name tag. Then, the Derek he’d met at the bar returned but his sights were on the shorter man and Shane found that when the condescending smirk wasn’t aimed at him, it was almost endearing. “Now if you’ll make yourself scarce,” the low voice drawled, “I was going to ask your hardworking employee about your _fine_ selection of items.” Shane struggled to keep back a chuckle, biting his bottom lip hard enough to bruise it.

Morris’s glare bore through the back of his head, but he kept his eyes fixated on the one person who’d ever given enough of a shit to try and pry his boss’s claws off him. He could almost see the pudgy fingers behind him twitching in agitation. “Very well,” the normally shrill voice was tight with a forced chivalry. “Thank you for shopping with us at JojaMart.”

The squeak of shoes marked Morris’s retreat and the tension slowly eased from Shane’s body, as Derek traded his patronizing look for the easy-going smile Shane didn’t deserve. But, as with Jas’s affection, he ate it up all the same.

“I’m not giving that bastard another chance at these,” Derek gestured to the poppers. “So meet me in the saloon when you’re off. First round’s on me, too – can’t imagine how any sane person wouldn’t need a drink after dealing with that shit stain for eight hours.” Shane’s brain was trying desperately to twist these words. Knots were untangling and he couldn’t comprehend why the man in front of him was giving him _so much attention_. His brain hooked on something, finally.

“I don’t need your pity,” he grumbled, trying to furrow his eyebrows in a familiar anger but found them to be trembling. And Derek read him like a fucking book.

“Save it. See you at 5:30. Six, if you need to change first.” Shane expected him to turn away and start walking out, but the red-head lingered, ice blue eyes soft and determined – searching his. Shane broke the eye contact with a light blush dusting his face and nodded at the tiled floor. It was all the other boy needed.

As Derek left and he resumed going through the motions, he found that he was still strapped to his body. He felt the cold metal of the cans kissing his fingertips, the smooth labels sliding against his skin, the gentle _thunk_ as they found their home on the shelving unit, the sound of squeaky wheels as he nudged the pallet further down the aisle; and he found he didn’t mind so much.

* * *

As with any good or neutral emotions, it was short-lived, of course. By the time he limped into the saloon at a quarter ‘til six, Shane lamented the gray rain that had plastered the hair to his scalp and the pain to his joints. Derek was at his table in the corner, and his dry curls were a muted brown against the shadows of the effervescent bar. He caught Shane’s eye and gave him a look of concern and confusion, standing and hurrying over.

He grabbed Shane gently by the elbow. “Woah, dude. What happened? You alright?”

Shane jerked his arm from the farmer’s grasp with a grunt that made Derek’s mouth set in a hard line. “’M fine. Knee isn’t a fan of the weather.” He sank into a chair across from Derek’s with a sigh as the other man followed suit and wasted no time in hailing Emily for that first round.

“Old injury?”

But just like the saturation of his surroundings, Shane’s ability to distinguish conversation from interrogation was sapped from him. “Quit pretending you care and let me drink,” he growled.

“Newsflash, asshole. I _do_ care,” Derek shot back. They glared at each other, and his withering brain cheered at the familiarity of that look. Begged him to chase it. Screamed it was not only the wisest option, but the _only_ option. The sooner he nipped this emerging dynamic in the bud, the sooner he could slip deeper into his rut until the mud reclaimed his body; garbage embracing garbage.

“Well it isn’t reciprocated,” he spat. His heart didn’t like that one – and it let him know with an agonizing thump against his ribs. “In fact, the only thing I care about right now is how long it’ll take for you to _leave me the fuck alone._ ” His voice was threatening to break as his throat convulsed like it was frantically trying to rope the words back down into his mouth. But the damage had been done and Derek was standing. Shane saw how awful the boy was at stuffing the hurt from his blue irises – a weakness that the farmer certainly hadn’t revealed in the past, not even when he’d needed Harvey’s painkillers to think through the broken bones in his arm. It was an agonizing revelation, one that made Shane wish he could just be a normal, functioning adult with a brain that was in-sync with his heart.

“You’re a fucking _bullshitter,_ Shane Robinson,” Derek hissed, prodding his right index finger into Shane’s uniform-clad chest. “When you’re done playing yourself, bring my plate back.” He straightened and the hurt that had been leaking out iced over to match the natural hue of those eyes. “I only have, like, three of ‘em,” he added, curtly. Shane’s heart thundered in time with the fading footsteps.

“Oh, did he not want his?” His head jerked up to see bob-length blue hair. Emily sat two full mugs of beer down onto the table.

“Had an emergency on the farm,” his brain lied for him, licking its metaphorical lips at the double serving of free alcohol. “Said I could have it.” Why not wash shitty behavior down with even more shitty behavior, right? Emily just nodded and smiled, none the wiser.

“Well happy birthday, Shane! I made you a little something,” she said before digging in the front pocket of her apron and flopping down a black beer koozie in front of him. She’d embroidered his name in blue thread across the middle. He stared at it, lips sealed with guilt. Used to his moodiness and silence, she took it in stride and gave him a comforting shoulder squeeze before slipping back to the other patrons.

_Bring my plate back._

His eyes flicked from her gift to Derek’s, but the knots bloated his belly over the waistband of his uniform pants and if he’d eaten anything solid today, he’d probably have puked right there on the table. Luckily, beer could unobtrusively fill the minute gaps, seeping into the fibers of what lie in his empty stomach, a permanently welcomed guest.

* * *

When he stumbled into the ranch’s kitchen at 11PM that night, too drunk for anyone to distinguish his limp from his uncoordinated muscles, he spotted a lonely cake perched on the table. The candles were long dead, wicks sagging. In red frosting, the “Happy Birthday, Shane!” taunted him. He belched quietly into his fist, feeling a particularly strong stomach turn that had his legs shakily carrying him to the bathroom as he dumped his neglected gifts next to his neglected cake.

He closed the door and flicked on the light, too inebriated to catch himself before the sink mirror met him. His eyes were long dead, bags sagging. In red cheeks, the “Welcome home, alcoholic!” taunted him. His face contorted into a glare, and he hallucinated for a split second that his reflection had blue eyes instead of green.

He vomited into the sink basin.

**Derek**

His anger was hot enough that he could’ve used it to cauterize the fresh lines he was making. He had his aftercare supplies scattered around him and contemplated a trip to the city where he could look into buying long-sleeve shirts of thinner material. Warmer weather was around the corner, after all.

With hands that trembled with adrenaline, he started a fire and turned on the television. He wrapped himself in an old quilt he had been gifted after bringing Evelyn a flowerpot for her gardenias. Flipping through the meager three channels, he scoffed at the fortune channel as he flicked it on.

_The spirits are very displeased today. They will do their best to make your life difficult._

“Yeah, pretty sure I just left one of ‘em at the bar,” he mumbled at the mocking screen. _Maybe you should’ve stayed_ , his brain goaded. _Maybe if you had the sense to keep your wits about you, you could’ve been there for him_. Perhaps he was a terrible friend for not chasing away the obvious pain and doubt in Shane’s eyes. It wasn’t as if the man were difficult to read, much as the farmer bet he’d like to be. The act was feeble, at best – desperate to prove... Prove what? Prove that Shane was really the asshole everyone claimed he was?

That just didn’t seem right. Who would willingly put those defenses back up after they’d been torn down and _regret_ mere days ago? At first, Derek had equated him to the villain in Little Red Riding Hood – intimidating for the sake of ego and power and gain. But none of those motives fit a man who was pushing people _away._

Sometimes, Shane was so easy to read, and sometimes his pages were written in fucking hieroglyphics.

He switched to the cooking channel and watched the Queen of Sauce cook sashimi in an entrancing loop. This time, he _felt_ himself leave his body, leaving behind a carcass.

Seconds, minutes, hours trickled by without much substance, as zombie-Derek’s eyes were glazed over and dancing with the light of the screen. His real eyes were watching from above with their usual resigned complacency.

Then the two separated figments were hurtling back together with a slam that jolted his unified body from the cushions. There had been a soft but definitive series of clatters on his porch. His heart began racing as his eyes darted to his phone on the table and terrified fingers grappled at it. It was one in the morning and someone was about to break into his house. He dialed 911 but bit his lip nervously. He couldn’t call before he knew for sure. The thought of flashing lights and wailing sirens only for annoyed officers to discover that a feral animal was the culprit who had dared frighten him from the ceiling was too embarrassing to stomach, even in the hypothetical.

He rose from the couch and reached for the club he had been planning to take to the mines when his arm healed. He tucked the weapon in his right armpit as his good hand clasped the phone, daring another suspicious sound to make him press the call button.

He slowly crept toward the front door, suddenly unsure of what to do. He only had one arm and no windows that glanced outside. He made a hasty mental note to commission Robin for a fucking peephole, if he lived past tonight. He tucked his phone into his sling and, with the heavy metal still trapped under his arm, used his newly free hand to rip the door open and roar into the night. Maybe the element of surprise would be on his side.

Nothing.

His eyes darted wildly from side to side as he hastily shifted the club into his sweaty palm. Then he looked down and as he processed what was on his porch, he felt shame and humiliation light his face on fire.

He’d been about two seconds from calling the cops on a dish. He knelt down and realized it was _his_ dish. The one that had previously held spicy peppers stuffed with cheese and breadcrumbs. There was no trace of that anymore, though. Now, it looked pristine and smelled of soap. Next to it were two cans of cheap Joja-brand beer. He scoffed, shaking his confused head.

He grabbed the phone from his sling and clicked it off, slipping it into his pocket. He rubbed a hand down his sweat-soaked face and let out an exasperated breath. A peace offering? An apology? A final beg for Derek to “leave him the hell alone”? No, not the latter. Shane was no beggar.

He was internally grateful the man had seemingly made it off his property before Derek had yelled into the night like a karate student about to chop through a board. He balanced the beer cans on the plate and carried it inside, kicking the front door closed behind him, a determination set on his features.

“ _You’re the world’s shittiest actor, Shane,_ ” he thought, angrily. “ _And I’m gonna rip off that fucking costume and toss it into my goddamned fireplace.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder to all of you Elliott or Alex lovers out there, the promise of background character growth/development remains!


	8. A Crash Course on Suppression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also known as: Please, sir, may I have a crumb of sexual tension?
> 
> I also, once again, point at the tags.

It was Sunday, his one blessed day off before it was back to JojaMart for another work week. He pushed JojaMart into a box in his mind, not allowing himself to think about his job at all for at least 20 hours. He rolled out of bed in the pajamas he’d forced himself to put on after last night’s impulsive endeavor to Derek’s porch. Beer sometimes numbed him, but it also sometimes made him pathetically emotional. He supposed last night’s batch had turned into the latter.

He _was_ sorry, though. Well and truly so. But if he was honest, he definitely would not have added two beers from his personal stash to that porch if the five beers sloshing through his system hadn’t convinced him to. His hangover was agonizing, but at least he didn’t feel like he needed to hurl, thanks to the pepper poppers he had caved into after gifting the bathroom sink with some of his alcohol-soaked knots.

Speaking of the bathroom, a hot shower sounded like a good idea right about now. Marnie shopped in the city to restock on supplies for the upcoming week every Sunday morning, and Jas had spent last night at Vincent’s (which was a special god-send during last night’s loud retching) so he knew he had the hot water to himself.

He stripped down to his boxers and grabbed what smelled like a clean towel from an arbitrary pile of clothes on his bedroom floor and ventured out for the bathroom. Then he froze in the hallway.

**Derek**

Look, gold was gold, okay? If Derek had any hope of affording a wardrobe expansion on top of his seeds, he needed as much as he could get. This meant no side job was to be scoffed at, not even the one that had appeared in his mailbox this morning. Marnie was an adult woman, free to make her own choices and decisions. _But Lewis?_ he asked himself, picking the lock on her bedroom door with a fluid ease.

When Lewis had originally asked him to find his “lucky purple shorts” – _Yoba, don’t gag right now, Derek, you have to be silent_ – he was confused, but not necessarily disturbed. But then he’d made the grave mistake of asking Lewis _where_ he’d last seen them, and after a lot of dodged questions and blushing, Derek had almost lost his breakfast at the mayor’s feet.

_“Look, Marnie goes to Zuzu every Sunday and she told me last night that Jas went to a slumber party at Jodi’s place. Shane sleeps like the dead. If you’re in and out fast, you’ll be fine, I promise. I wouldn’t be asking if I had any other choice! I’ll reward you handsomely. Please, please promise this will stay between us.”_

Derek wasn’t one to judge, but he also wasn’t one to fetch another man’s fucking boxers from his lady-of-the-night’s bedroom. Gold was gold. He sighed and slowly pushed the door open, cringing at every small squeal of the hinges. His head swiveled back to Shane’s bedroom door – closed. No sounds he could hear from within. He was still good. He turned back around and tentatively stepped past the door frame.

A swath of purple crumpled at the foot of the bed threatened to coax out the contents of his stomach again. He squeezed his eyes shut, right hand on his forehead as he struggled to gather himself. In his mental anguish, he didn’t hear any of the soft rustling noises or bed spring squeaks he’d been tuning his ears for. So when he heard a door opening, he blanched and whipped around.

There stood Shane, towel draped over one shoulder.

Shane... wearing just a pair of black boxers with a light gray waistband. He stopped breathing. He was red in the face from the most intense blush he’d felt in his goddamn life, while the half-naked man in front of him was turning red in embarrassment and anger.

“ _What the fuck are you doing here?!”_ Shane yelled, yanking the towel down and hastily wrapping it around his waist, before crossing his arms defensively over his exposed chest. Derek’s mouth opened and closed, a fish out of water. “ _Get the fuck out?!”_ Shane screamed again, eyes wild with panic and confusion. Derek tore his gaze from him and looked desperately at the ceiling, promising he’d go to church again if Yoba would swallow him up from the ground just this once. He was dimly aware of his foot tapping anxiously. Derek wet his lips with an anxious swipe of his tongue to unglue them.

“H-He said you’d be asleep, _fuck!_ I-It’s not what it looks like, Shane!” Derek’s eyes fixated on a spot in the ceiling where a long-ago leak had darkened the eggshell color.

“I don’t know _what_ the hell it looks like! I just know you need to get the fuck out of my house!” Derek was dimly aware of his chest heaving up and down, as he began hyperventilating. He willed the ceiling to crash down on him. “Also, what do you mean ‘he’?!” A chance to explain, Derek’s frantic mind cried, seizing his lips to pour words out of them.

“I’m poor as shit and Lewis said he’d pay me to find his goddamn _shorts,_ only the bastard failed to mention they are not just shorts, but fucking _boxers,_ and”—he interrupted his rant by pitching his voice higher to mock the mayor’s tone—“’oh boy, Derek! Won’t you use your utmost discretion when fetching them from Marnie’s room?’ and he’d said you’d be _asleep_ and-“ Derek’s lips stopped and his gaze ripped from the comforting ceiling to Shane, who looked at him like he was a three-headed dog. “I- I- I’m-“ he stammered, unable to get anything out anymore as his lungs demanded constant gulps of tension-filled air.

Shane broke out of his trance and stormed over to where he stood and Derek found himself bracing for a punch. Or maybe a pair of rough hands and strong arms to toss him unceremoniously out the front door. But he only received a harsh shoulder bump – albeit, against his left shoulder, which made him hiss – as Shane strode past him into Marnie’s bedroom. But that was only going to be worse, Derek’s brain screamed.

“N-no wait, dude. You don’t wanna-“

“Oh, _Yoba,_ ” Shane cried in disgust. His bad shoulder was rammed into again as the poor man rushed into the bathroom, slammed the door behind him, and promptly retched into what Derek assumed was the toilet.

“Tried to warn you,” he croaked. The toilet flushed and he heard the sink turn on and the unmistakable sounds of a toothbrush followed by a gargle of mouthwash. Shane stumbled out of the bathroom, askew towel threatening to fall, pale but thankfully less furious. 

He looked at Derek with a pleading expression. “Her and _Lewis?_ ” Derek shrugged helplessly, mouth opening in a small whimper. Shane shuddered and ducked back into the bathroom, but he didn’t close the door or appear to be vomiting this time. The farmer shivered and turned back around to face the purple boxers, steeling himself before gingerly grabbing a small bit of fabric in the pinch of his index finger and thumb. There was no way he was soiling his pocket or backpack with this, but he knew holding it at arm’s length through the town while he slunk over to the mayor’s house wasn’t an option, either.

He stepped into the bathroom to see Shane’s towel had dropped and he stood in front of a shower that was very much still off, back in just his boxers and facing away from Derek. He jumped when Derek came into the room, like he’d been zoning out at the wall. Or willing himself to wake up from this nightmare. The farmer would drink to that.

“ _What the fuck, dude?! Get out of here with that thing! You want me to hurl again?”_ Shane pointed angrily at the open door and Derek sputtered again.

“Y-you have any disposable gloves? A b-biohazard bag?” Shane’s arm dropped to his side and his face contorted strangely before he erupted into laughter. Derek shook his head before letting out choked giggles in return. God, it was so _ridiculous._

Shane seemed to have completely forgotten about his state of undress as he wasn’t attempting to cover up every inch of his skin anymore, running a shaking hand through his purple hair and gripping it when he got to the back of his neck.

“My _god,_ I’m never going to stop having nightmares about this,” Shane almost whined.

“M-me either,” Derek gulped. “So how about those supplies?” His voice was laced with desperation, though he was at least thankful that Shane wasn’t screaming at him anymore.

The other man nodded. “Yeah, okay. One second.” Derek had been standing in front of the sink, which was positioned to the right of the entryway, open door against the wall behind him. Due to the small space, Shane’s entire body brushed up against him as he scrambled to get out. He also bumped Derek’s fucking shoulder again.

“Agh, Shane, please!” he yelped. “You keep barreling into my bad arm.” He should’ve waited just a half second longer to blurt this out, though, because Shane – still obviously too frazzled to be conscious of his body – paused directly behind Derek and met his eyes in the mirror with an apologetic grimace, touching his fingertips to the top of his shoulder that wasn’t covered by the sling.

“Shit, sorry.” His hurried whisper brushed warm, minty breath across the back of his neck and, combined with the body heat and bare skin against him and the fact that it was _Shane,_ his blood flew south. That is, save for the large amount that rushed to fill his face. At the color spreading along his skin, Shane suddenly realized the position they were in and looked down at their bodies pressed tightly together. “ _Fuck, sorry-_ “ he squeaked, nearly sprinting the rest of the way out.

Derek tried not to think of the boxers still clasped between his fingers or the boxers in his pants that were suddenly a few sizes too small. He closed his eyes and forced his lungs to take slow, steady breaths as he listened to the sound of drawers being hastily opened and slammed, objects being thrown and rummaged through, and bare feet slapping on linoleum flooring. A door opened and closed, and Derek panicked for a moment, thinking Shane had simply dipped out to leave him to his own devices.

But Shane was still severely underdressed, so that terrible scenario was out the window. He heard the door open and close again, before the sound of footsteps came back toward the bathroom. They paused, and Derek heard them shuffle into another room. When Shane finally came back, he had hastily thrown pajamas on and wouldn’t make eye contact as he thrust a pair of latex gloves and a gallon sandwich bag at Derek.

The farmer took care not to extract his front from where it was pressed tightly against the sink as he snatched the items. Then he snickered despite himself.

“Only need one,” he joked, tossing a glove back at Shane and donning the other. Shane let out a pained chuckle as his shoulders dropped their tension and he leaned his head against the door frame, watching Derek slip the vile underwear into the baggie and close it up with a few more strokes of the seal than necessary.

“Today didn’t happen,” Shane groaned, but he was giving Derek a half-smile that really didn’t help his situation downstairs. “Deal?” The red-head nodded, gulping and forcing a small smile.

“Deal. But now you _have_ to be my friend, no exceptions,” he found himself teasing boldly. “We suffer together, we drink together.” Probably not the best thing to say to an alcoholic, but he needed something to unravel to tension in his lower belly. Shane laughed again and nudged his right shoulder with his own, before turning serious.

“Sorry about yesterday. Was in a mood.” _You don’t say?_ Derek quipped internally, biting his tongue. He tried to appear nonchalant as he shrugged and nodded.

“Sorry for breaking in your house and traumatizing you. Let’s call it even.” Another crooked smile. _Okay, bud. How’s about you hide back in your room again so I don’t taint our shiny, new friendship with my libido._ Out of all days to wear skinny jeans, it just had to be today. He willed himself to think of explicitly unsexy things.

_Slimy fish, an Elliott rant, Pam’s eyeshadow, JojaMart._

That seemed to do the trick. Just in time, too, as Shane pushed off the door frame and headed out into the kitchen. He detached his hips from the sink and snuck a look. _Yeah, we’re all good,_ he sighed in relief. He followed Shane and found the man reaching into a tiny cabinet above the fridge. The white t-shirt he’d worn to bed rode up as he stretched, showing a small sliver of skin above the waistband of his pajama pants.

_Alex’s wink, wizard potions, Sniffles's litterbox, more JojaMart._

When he came back out of his head, Shane had slapped a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses between them, silently pouring one for each of them.

“Suffer together, drink together,” the hoarse voice echoed Derek’s earlier sentiment. The red-head met those soft, green eyes, and this time it was his heart that pulsed with need. He found himself nodding in solidarity, as both men brought the glasses to their lips and slammed them back. The empty shots clattered back onto the counter top but as Shane made a motion to refill, Derek held out a hand to stop him.

“I’m definitely going to need to get sufficiently wasted, but I what need _more_ is to get these out of my possession so I can suppress the fuck out of this. Meet me at the saloon in”—he looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall: 10:12AM—“three hours. One o’clock. Okay?”

Shane nodded with an amused smile. “Yeah, good luck with that. I don’t usually embarrass myself by going to the saloon that early, but I think I can make an exception for today,” he grimaced. Then, his eyes went wide and he cursed violently under his breath. “ _Shit!_ I was supposed to pick up Jas at ten!”

With that, both men were fleeing from the house like it were a crime scene. Which, perhaps, it was.

**Shane**

He was good at simply Not Thinking about things. For instance, his grief for his friends stayed in permanent exile (when he could help it, that is). His first girlfriend lived there, too. Now, all he had to do was add the image of purple briefs on his aunt’s bedroom floor. Oh, and also the twins: Being practically nude in front of the one man he couldn’t get out of his head on a daily basis, and also inadvertently pressing against said man’s ass in his goddamn bathroom. Yeah, all of those memories could go rot in solitary confinement, honestly.

Almost as if to compensate for the amount of body exposure he was subjected to today, he wore baggy sweatpants with his ratty JojaMart hoodie drooping over his shoulders. He entered the saloon a few minutes late, spotting Derek at their table. _Their?_ he cringed internally. He shook his head briskly, closing the distance with a determined speed. His stupid emotions couldn’t catch him if he kept moving, surely.

Derek smiled as he approached, seeming to have composed himself in the short amount of time between this morning and now. He almost impulsively asked how the return trip went, before throwing the thought back into exile with an internal growl.

“Hey.” Derek’s strained voice brought the smile into a new light, and Shane realized how tight-lipped it was, sighing in relief that he wasn’t the only one apparently still struggling. Derek turned his head toward the bar and caught Emily’s eye almost immediately, who nodded and strolled over with two tall shot glasses and a decent sized bottle of whiskey. Okay, so they were getting _wasted_ wasted today, then. A voice in the back of his mind faintly reminded him that he had work in the morning, but that was future Shane’s problem, quite frankly.

“Drink responsibly, boys,” Emily giggled coyly. They grunted in unison.

For the first three shots, they didn’t say a single word to each other, each of them taking the time to properly acquaint this morning with its specialized compartmentalization prison. Derek was pouring a fourth shot into Shane’s glass when he finally spoke.

“Jas pissed at you?” It took Shane’s brain a few seconds to reroute and figure out he was talking about being tardy earlier. Derek set the bottle back down and tapped idly at his shot glass with a fingernail.

He shook his head. “Nah, she barely even noticed. Her and Vincent are attached at the freaking hip.” Derek chuckled, the sound working wonders on the silent tension between them.

“Must be nice,” the red-head muttered under his breath, swallowing his fourth dose and prepping a fifth.

Shane scoffed. “What, your fuck-ups going unnoticed? Being irresponsible and escaping the consequences?”

Derek rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “No, dumbass. Being ‘attached to someone at the freaking hip’,” he air-quoted. “Need me a friend like that.” His smile was playful, but the whiskey made his true vulnerability blatant in his blue eyes.

“I’ll pretend not to be offended,” Shane joked. Derek laughed loudly, tipping his head back before leaning back in his seat and blinking slowly at him with a dopey smile.

“You couldn’t handle all this attention, Shane,” the red-head teased. The man across from him was definitely drunk at this point, but so was he. A blush burned its trail to his cheeks, but the whiskey would cover that, wouldn’t it?

“Actually no, I probably couldn’t,” he admitted quietly. He always hated how being drunk made everyone else so bubbly and happy, while it only made him somber and sometimes numb. “I’d find a way to fuck it up. Always do.” Derek leaned forward, cradling his chin in his right palm and staring unabashedly at Shane, who was too drunk to squirm underneath the gaze as he usually would. Instead, he stared right back, intoxication flowing through his veins.

“You’re ‘n idiot, y’know that?” Derek slurred, booze hitting his speech like a truck. He stopped using his right hand as a support so that he could swipe down the tip of Shane’s nose affectionately with his finger. If it were quite literally anyone else across the table, that digit would be gone. Instead, Derek was just given a scrunch of the nose and a playful huff. “’M lucky t’ be your frien’.” Shane’s brain was too dizzy to twist those words, so he found himself smiling instead.

“Didn’t realize part of the friendship deal was you getting to call me names,” he mused. He held his alcohol better than the farmer, but perhaps that wasn’t something to be particularly proud of. Derek laughed a bit too loudly at that, throwing his arm up in the air.

“Well! I wouldn’t _call_ you ‘n idiot ‘f you din’ _act_ like one!” He cried – again, too loudly – as his right arm fell back onto the table like dead weight. Shane looked around nervously at the various heads that had turned in their direction and shook his head, capping the whiskey.

“That’s it, farmer. I’m cutting you off.” Again, the alcohol drew up the corner of his lips. Maybe he was usually only a somber drunk because he drank alone. That thought was dangerously close to earning a one-way ticket to the Not Thinking cabinet. Derek groped with an uncoordinated hand, missing the bottle by a mile.

“No!” he whined. “I bought that!”

“Yeah, and you want to remember it, no?” Shane chortled. His friend sighed like a pissy toddler and sat back in his seat again. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

* * *

The walk to Derek’s farmhouse was full of giggling and stumbling, mostly on the farmer’s part. Shane made sure to stand on his right side, so he could grab him by his good arm when he needed to steady him. Eventually, the need to steady him became constant, so Shane wrapped the arm around his own shoulders, trying to ignore one of those exiled thoughts from creeping out of containment. The whiskey bottle dangled from the farmer’s hand, glinting in the dying sun.

“How’re you still co...” Derek paused as his mouth tried to push out the word he needed. “Co...h’rent.”

Shane smiled in amusement. “I’m more _coherent,_ ” he teased. “Because I’m not a fuckin’ lightweight.”

Derek had been leaning his head on Shane’s shoulder as they walked, but he straightened up enough to be way too close to Shane’s face as he stared indignantly.

“'M _not_ a lightweight!” The smell of whiskey on his breath fanned pleasantly across Shane’s face and his brain cabinet rattled again.

“Yeah? How many fingers am I holding up?” Shane joked, flipping him off with a lopsided grin. The farmer even squinted at it for a moment, which made Shane cackle with laughter. Derek bit back a smile, dropping his head back on his shoulder.

“You’re an ass,” he mumbled, trying to hide his amusement.

When they finally got to the house, Shane led him up the porch steps and let out a good-natured groan when he had to snatch the keys that the farmer was fumbling with, unlocking the door. He slid his arm from around Derek’s shoulders and stepped back as the man began to enter. Then, he watched as he stopped, set the whiskey down on the floor just inside the house, and turned to face Shane again. He suddenly looked ten times more sober than he had mere seconds ago.

In fact, Shane might’ve thought the stumbling drunk behavior was an act if the slur wasn’t still in the boy’s voice: “Y’know... I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout wha’ you said...” he started. “’Bout, uh, bein’ stuck inna rut? I really wish... wish I knew how t’ get out.” His tone was sullen; unfocused and watery eyes locking with Shane’s. It looked like he was going to say more, but his momentary lucidity was not enough to get past the faltering lips.

This shocked Shane as much as it did when he’d admitted it on the dock. How could someone who was always so energetic and funny and charismatic and – fuck it – _attractive_ possibly understand what it was like to be a bottom-feeder?

He found himself scoffing, which was – he immediately realized – the wrong way to respond to a drunk and vulnerable friend. Derek’s face seemed to crumple in on itself, eyebrows knitting together harshly and gaze sinking to the boards of the porch in front of his door.

“Wait, hey,” Shane found his legs moving to draw closer, voice softening. “I’m sorry. I just... it’s hard to picture someone... someone like _you_ feeling like... someone like _me._ ” Derek’s eyes were no longer unfocused when they reconnected with his. He had that stupid _look_ on his face again; the one at the dock that reeked of pain and mortality. Shane must be drunker now than he was back then, because he noticed he was moving closer again. He was in the man’s space now, close enough to smell whiskey and cologne. Close enough to feel his sadness waft through his pores, palpable in the air between them.

“You have no idea,” Derek whispered, sad blue eyes flicking in between each of Shane’s. Suddenly, the red-head’s face was tilting closer and a bolt of panic and a strange excitement shot through him before he realized the farmer wasn’t making a move, he was _falling._ Shane lurched, reflexes only slightly dimmed by the whiskey, wrapping his right hand around the boy’s waist, and grasping the lower portion of his forearm with his other one. Then, he paused as something underneath the fingers of his left hand felt more like a cotton ball than skin.

Confused and not all the way thinking straight in his inebriation, Shane hefted the farmer upright and yanked his right sleeve up to his elbow.

“What’s on your ar-“

“ _No, don’t!”_

But Derek’s reflexes weren’t gridball smooth, so green eyes traced the two pieces of matted gauze that were carefully taped around the inside of the farmer’s wrist. If their positioning and Derek’s previous confession weren’t hints enough, past the white fabric lay a tangling of jagged scars of various ages.

“ _Oh,_ ” Shane whispered, pathetic brain back firing. He needed to say more. If only the stupid lump of meat in his skull could work for him _just this once_. He needed to tell the farmer that he was here for him; that it was okay to be trapped, because so was he and he had no room to judge anyone else’s escapes.

But would he have even been able to say those things sober? Shane was a lot of things, but supportive or eloquent certainly weren’t on that list. It was evident that his silence and muted panic wasn’t an appropriate response, as Derek snatched his arm away with a choked sob.

The door was slammed in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ALSO-also known as: The night Derek broke Shane but also vice versa
> 
> In the best possible way, of course.


	9. Really Good to Hear Your Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet at around 4.7k words or so! Whew!
> 
> Derek's singing is going to be prevalent, and any songs he sings will be credited here (:  
> For this chapter, it's: Lips of an Angel by Hinder

Derek was hyperventilating as he dashed to the bathroom and knelt over the toilet, burning whiskey waving back at him. He coughed harshly as he squeezed his eyes shut, sobbing again. The embarrassment was so intense, but so was his pitiful need for comfort. Shane wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye anymore. At least, certainly not without a nice helping of pity – comfort’s ugly and patronizing cousin.

His cheek rested on the rim of the seat as he fought for control over his lungs. He was suddenly startled from his spiraling thoughts as his phone vibrated in a quick succession of uncoordinated buzzes. He yanked it from his pocket to see he’d been added to a group chat.

**5:47PM**   
**Abigail**   
running late. dad got a surprise shipment. blech :P   
  
**5:48PM**   
**Sam**   
dw, we won’t start without u   
  
**5:48PM**   
**Unknown**   
Says you.   
  
**5:50PM**   
**Abigail**   
fuck off seb u turned up almost an hour late last week   
  
**5:52PM**   
**Unknown**   
I told you I had a client! Sam come open your door, you twat.   
  
**5:53PM**   
**Abigail**   
ya whatever. i added derek btw. u still coming farmer?   
  
**5:53PM**   
**Sam**   
maybe if you adjust ur attitude sebby ;)   


Derek felt himself begin to panic again. In all the excitement with Shane today, he’d completely forgotten he was supposed to be singing in front of a group of new friends. He felt like he’d hit his vulnerability quota long ago. Plus, he was still drunk off his ass and smelled like vomit. But he couldn’t blow off the people he’d barely gotten to know. With Shane likely out of the picture after tonight, he needed to not destroy four budding friendships in one monumental go. He quickly saved Sebastian as a contact and started frantically typing.

**5:55PM**   
**Derek**   
Shit, I lost track of time. I’ll be there in 30   
  
**5:55PM**   
**Sebastian**   
Don’t think I won’t turn around and go home, Samantha. Let me in   
  
**5:57PM**   
**Sam**   
well now u can just crawl thru my window, rude ass >:(   
  
np derek! we’ll warm up in the meantime   


Derek clicked his phone off again, hastily wrapping a few grocery bags around his sling before turning the shower on and beginning a long clean-up, sober-up process.

* * *

He arrived at Sam’s door at 6:38, panting and hair still damp. He had blown through a whole pot of coffee and a metric fuck ton of water. He hadn’t had the time to eat and he hoped his stomach wouldn’t try any funny business while he was a guest in someone else’s home. He’d freshened up his cologne, as well, and had probably brushed the enamel off his teeth.

He rang the doorbell and was immediately greeted by Jodi, who he only really knew by word of mouth. She was a petite blonde with tired but lively eyes and a warm smile.

“Samuel! Derek’s here!” she called out into the house behind her. “Come in, come in. Can I get you anything? Drink? Snack?” Derek’s stomach growled for him, but he smiled shyly, afraid to overstep even though she had blatantly asked.

“U-um, sure,” he mumbled quietly. She assuaged his anxiety with a wide grin, ushering him into the kitchen with her.

“I made spaghetti tonight. Vincent’s favorite. Hope that’s okay?” She handed him a plate of steaming pasta. He looked at her with a grateful expression.

“Oh wow, yes. More than okay... thank you so much, Jodi.” She hummed and gave him a motherly pat on the cheek, before a door opened behind them and Derek turned to see Sam with a red Epiphone guitar around his neck. The boy clicked his tongue when he spotted the plate in Derek’s hand, chuckling.

“Ma, you would feed this entire town with your own two hands if you had the time.” Jodi flapped a hand at her son with playful eye roll, before returning her attention to Derek.

“You’re more than welcome to eat that in his room. Yoba knows _he_ eats in that pig stye-“

“ _Ma-_ “

“Just bring the plate back out when you’re done, yeah?” Derek nodded, laughing and trying to ignore the pang in his chest at a dynamic he sorely missed. Sam waved him over and when they entered his room, he saw Abigail plopped behind a set of drums, while Sebastian manned a synthesizer. It was a fitting setup, and he was eager to see what they could do.

“Yay! You made it!” Abigail chirped. She smirked at the food he carried. “Got the Jodi treatment, huh? Here, we’ll show you some of the stuff we’ve been working on while you eat.” Derek liked Abigail a lot, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d make the same snide remarks about loving mothers if she’d lost hers. Sebastian merely nodded at him in acknowledgement, but there was that ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Okay, great,” he breathed, relieved to not be shuffled between people anymore. Sam gestured to him that he could sit on the edge of the bed, and Derek’s heart swelled a bit at the platonic intimacy he was already being welcomed to. He sat on the mattress, forcing himself to eat politely while his stomach bitched at him.

The three of them took their positions and shared a quick preparatory look. Abigail tapped her two drumsticks together four times to set the tempo, and suddenly the room was alive with music. It was a soft song, one that had Sam playing languid chords while Abigail mainly stuck to the hi-hat and Sebastian played a calming melody across the keys of the synth.

Derek found his body swaying slightly with the flow as he chewed and smiled. The next song was much faster, more of a rock-n-roll type. Sebastian used more liberties on his synth this time around, and the effects were maddening against the other instruments. Abigail kept a steady and complex rhythm until Sam cut in with a guitar solo. This time, Derek was bopping his head and he’d finished his meal, thoroughly enjoying himself.

They played two more songs, but the last one ended awkwardly as they hadn’t finished it yet. When they were done, Derek beamed.

“Holy shit, that was great! That was, like, four completely different songs. You guys are super versatile,” he gushed.

“Yeah, but we need a _style,_ ” Abigail sighed.

“What if our style is just whatever the hell we want to play?” Sam offered with a shrug. Abigail rolled her eyes and Sebastian snickered. Then, the dark-haired boy fixed his eyes on Derek, amusement dancing in them.

“Right, farmer. Your turn, then.” Derek gulped, smile falling a bit as his nerves kicked in. Sam lifted his guitar off his shoulders and set it on the bed behind Derek, grabbing his empty plate and placing it on the nightstand. He was just like his mother and it was hilarious.

“Don’t worry, dude. We don’t judge,” the blonde assured.

“Well...” Sebastian teased. It was perhaps the most carefree he’d ever seen the guy be before. It helped him relax a little, giving his shoulder a small roll.

“Oh, stuff it, you grump,” Abigail shot him a glare before softening her gaze at Derek. “Sam’s right – we won’t judge you.”

“Okay,” he nodded, fighting for the confidence he had in front of strangers that seemed to mysteriously vanish in front of people he was _supposed_ to be comfortable with. Abigail turned on her stool and reached behind her for a microphone on a stand that had been tucked in the corner.

“The cable isn’t with it right now because we obviously don’t need to plug it up in this tiny ass room, but I know it sometimes helps just to have something to hold.” Derek nodded gratefully, hoisting it over the kit to the floor space in front of him. He suddenly realized he would probably die of fright if he had to sing a capella, and he turned to Sam.

“U-uh do you know ‘Lips of an Angel’ by any chance?” Sam’s eyebrows rose and he nodded in appreciation.

“A Hinder man? I can get behind it.” Derek smiled weakly and wrapped his shaky right hand around the microphone, adjusting it on the stand to line up with his mouth. Abigail was right; it was nice to have something to hold. Sam began the opening chords to the familiar song, and Derek’s eyes instinctively closed as he sucked in a nervous breath and forced himself to focus on the first note. All he needed to do was get the first note, and the rest would come naturally. He found it.

_“Honey, why you callin’ me so late?_

_It’s kinda hard to talk right now.”_

He heard a small _tss_ and opened his eyes to see Abigail’s face radiating in excitement, then flushing with slight embarrassment as she seemed to have accidentally hit her hi-hat. He closed his eyes again in time to sink back into the private lull he needed to sing confidently.

_“Honey, why you cryin’?_

_Is everything okay?_

_I gotta whisper ‘cause I can’t be too loud.”_

He smiled into the microphone as Abigail came in at the same time Sam’s playing got louder, the pre-chorus driving Derek’s voice stronger and more brave.

_“Well,_

_My girl’s in the next room._

_Sometimes I wish she was you._

_I guess we never really moved on.”_

Abigail’s drumming began including the other cymbals and Derek felt a surge of elation that allowed his eyes to open. What he saw almost made him miss his entrance for the chorus. All three of their faces had the same excited flutter that he felt in his chest. Even Sebastian looked thrilled as he found a way to mix the synthesizer into the song. He felt for the first time in this town – aside from when he was with Shane, perhaps – that he truly _belonged._ That he had something to _give._ In this bedroom, he was _worth_ something.

_“It’s really good to hear your voice_

_Sayin’ my name, it sounds so sweet._

_Comin’ from the lips of an angel,_

_Hearin’ those words, it makes me weak!”_

He prepared his throat, knowing he’d have to slip into his falsetto for this next bit. Abigail’s face was scrunched up in unbridled joy, wailing on her drums.

_“And I-“_

Sam whooped as Derek hit the note, and the farmer beamed through the lyrics flying from his mouth.

_“Never wanna say goodbye!_

_But, god, you make it hard to be faithful,_

_With the lips of an angel.”_

Derek was thankful they wound down after one verse, because his anxiety had made his throat drier than his farm’s abused well, and the adrenaline was making him blush like crazy. Abigail threw down her sticks and wrapped her arms around him, squealing with excitement.

“ _Yes!_ ” she cried, whipping back around to face the other two. “I _told_ you! I knew this man was holding out on us.” Derek’s blush deepened as Sebastian chuckled.

“Jesus, Abby, don’t go re-breaking his arm. We’d like him _out_ of his cast by the time we have a gig.” His eyes lit up and hope blossomed in his chest at the goth’s words.

“W-wait, you mean-“ Derek blinked rapidly, trying to form cohesive sentences. “You’re saying I’m in?” He felt a hand clap him on the back and turned his head to see Sam bursting into friendly laughter as his hand rubbed the fabric of his shirt.

“You kiddin’, man?” He cried when he’d gotten his composure. “You’re literally exactly what we’ve needed. We were afraid we’d have to ask Haley.”

Abigail snickered. “Oh, sure. Miss Perfect would _love_ to sing Sebby’s angsty rock songs, I’m sure.” Sebastian shot her a glare and flipped his bangs from his forehead.

“Don’t play coy, you said you loved my angsty rock songs.”

“I _do._ But they definitely aren’t Haley’s style.” She turned her attention back to a very joyful, yet overwhelmed Derek. “That was _super_ rad, though, dude. You write?”

“O-oh, uh... not really,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought about it but... like I said the other day, I had kinda dropped singing for a while.” Abigail’s face contorted in confusion as she repeated the question from the saloon.

“Why? If I had your voice, you all would never get me to shut up,” she giggled.

“We already can’t,” Sebastian slipped in effortlessly. She shot him another glare.

Derek was embarrassed, but he was definitely a part of their group, now. No use lying or keeping his shit from them. “Err... no foster parents really liked... noise...” He let out a forced laugh. Abigail’s eyebrows drew together softly before giving him a brief nod of understanding.

“Their loss,” she hummed, striding back over to her drum set with a determined smile. “We wanna hear that noise. Welcome to the band.”

They played until Vincent’s bed time, when Jodi told them to pack it up.

* * *

The next morning, Derek awoke amicably to the sound of his alarm clock. He rubbed his eyes and verified that it was indeed Monday. He’d been afraid that after the incident with Shane on his front porch, he would have slipped away again. Maybe the wealth of validation from his band members last night had halted any unwanted fallout. _My band members,_ he whispered internally in awe, smiling like an idiot.

He quickly dressed, changed his bandages with a distasteful grimace, and started the four hundredth load of laundry. Speaking of which, his plans were freed up today and he figured it was a good time as ever for that shopping trip. His potatoes and side jobs had gotten him enough money to spend on things he was desperately needing. He made a list on his kitchen counter, before eating a light breakfast and knocking out his chores.

He realized quickly, though, that he really didn’t want to go alone. He also had no clue what the bus schedule was like. Apprehensively, he pulled out his phone and opened the band’s group chat. _They’re your friends now,_ his mind reassured. _You’re allowed to ask for company._ Still, he seemed to go through five drafts of his text before cursing under his breath and sending it.

**12:26PM**  
**Derek**  
Anyone up for a trip to the city? I need some clothes and house shit. Also, when the hell does the bus get here?  
  
**12:30PM**  
**Abigail**  
i would but my dad makes me work in the shop during the week :(  
  
**12:31PM**  
**Sebastian**  
Why the hell are you fuckers awake?  
  
**12:31PM**  
**Abigail**  
some of us have normal sleep schedules ya dweeb  


Derek briefly wondered if there was some chemistry between Abby and Seb. They sure seemed to poke fun at each other a lot, and Abigail was awful at subtly sneaking glances at him on Friday whenever he made a good shot with his pool stick. The vibration of his phone made him glance back down at his screen.

**12:32PM**  
**Sam**  
quit bickering like ur married. the bus comes every half hour until 5 and then it’s just every hour  
  
i’m game for a trip to zuzu  
  
**12:34PM**  
**Sebastian**  
Yeah sure, I’ll go.  
  
**12:34PM**  
**Abigail**  
what?? ur all gonna just leave me here?  
  
**12:35PM**  
**Sebastian**  
Not our fault you got stuck helping daddy dearest.  


Derek snickered, shaking his head. How long would it take for them to get this comfortable with him, too? At least he had company today. The city was noisy and pungent – he found comfort in the thought of having a slice of home with him in that unforgiving district.

  
**12:36PM**  
**Derek**  
Great! I’ll meet you both at 1:30? Also, sorry Abby ); maybe next time  


He hissed internally when he realized he’d so casually used a nickname with her. Jesus, did even texting give him anxiety nowadays? He was so much better face-to-face, he realized with a sigh.

**12:37PM**  
**Abigail**  
seb if ur not careful i WILL sneak into your musty cave and shave ur head while u sleep  
  
i’m just messing derek! next time for sure ;)  


Derek laughed at his phone for the next twenty minutes, watching the trio banter back and forth. Eventually, Abigail supposedly got caught on her phone by Pierre, and the conversation slowly wound down.

One thirty couldn’t come any sooner.

**Shane**

“Chop, chop,” Morris’s shrill tone pounded his ear drums. “I don’t pay you to slack!” Shane held back an angry grumble, as he begrudgingly moved the broom faster across the floor. This was supposed to be Sam’s job, but the kid had called out last minute to his part-time afternoon shift. _He better be sick or dying,_ Shane groused internally. He finished the aisle he was working on and saw the clock on the far wall excitedly announce it was 5PM. Morris couldn’t hold him over today, either, unless he wanted to pay him overtime.

Shane clocked out with a satisfied smirk, watching his boss seethe at being short-handed today. Honestly, Sam had probably done him a favor. At least the couple of hours went by quickly. He stepped out into the evening sun, stretching languidly and beginning his trek to the ranch. He decided he was seeing enough color in the world today to bother with a fresh change of old clothes before his nightly saloon run.

He almost had a heart attack when Jodi’s front door sprang open, as three giggling men poured out onto the stoop.

“Remind me again,” Derek wheezed, eyes closed in laughter and right arm strung with shopping bags. “Why the fuck you thought it’d be a bright idea to stop at _your_ house and then _Sam’s,_ when mine is a stone’s throw from the-“ Derek’s smile faded as the three men saw Shane standing there, still reeling slightly from where he’d stumbled back from the door. Sam and Sebastian flanked the red-head, Sam seeming to realize what had happened by Shane’s startled posture.

“Oh shit, man. Didn’t even realize-“

“This is what you called out for?” Shane’s voice was gruff, and Derek seemed to flinch and began to shuffle awkwardly. Sam rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, before that emo kid he’d barely ever spoken a single sentence to butted in.

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business, Shane,” Sebastian warned. Derek looked like he was about to say something, but Shane beat him to the punch.

“It’s my fucking business when I’m the one who has to deal with our asshole of a boss because _someone_ wanted to go on a field trip,” he growled.

“Sorry-“ Sam began, meekly, but was cut off by Mr. Dark and Mysterious.

“No, Sam. Don’t apologize to this dick. Not your fault Morris is insufferable.” He gave Shane a single up-and-down sweep of his eyes, lips curled in blatant disgust. “Seems it rubs off on some of the staff, too.” Shane was about to snarl something back at the Edward Cullen wannabe, when Derek piped up.

“Seb, quit it. He’s just frustrated, dude.” His tone wavered, but his eyes were firm. Shane realized he seemed nervous as hell and wondered if he was torn between sticking up for Shane or following along with Sebastian. In all honesty, he’d expected the latter and was deeply confused when Derek sliced through that expectation. After last night? He’d thought he was as good as manure on Derek’s list.

Sebastian scoffed and flung his fringe off his face with a comically over-practiced fluidity. “I don’t care _what_ he is, he can’t just rip into Sam like that.” He then pointed harshly at Shane without breaking eye contact with Derek. “You friends with this asshole or something?” Shane grit his teeth angrily, eyes flashing and preparing the knots in his stomach to coil happily at the impending denial.

“Wh- yes! I am, actually! He barely said shit to Sam and you just called him like five different names!” The pitch of Derek’s voice rose at the end as he lifted his shopping bag arm in disbelief. Shane suddenly realized he was sorely underprepared for how this interaction was panning out. People didn’t _defend_ him. People either ignored, berated, or gossiped about him. He almost wished Derek had followed this apparent town custom – but his heart fluttered in disagreement.

“Dude’s kinda right, Sebby,” Sam’s voice carried over as he scratched at his elbow nervously. “Was kinda shitty of me to dip last minute.” He looked at Shane like a dog who’d chewed up his favorite shoes. “Sorry, man,” he mumbled. Sebastian huffed incredulously and mumbled something along the lines of _‘bunch of door mats’_ before stalking off toward the mountains.

The tension was thicker than JojaCola syrup as they watched Sebastian’s form sink into the distance. Shane decided he really wanted to be anywhere except here. He didn’t do awkward tension – not if he could help it. Just then, the front door opened and smacked Sam in the back of the head.

“Sam, honey- Oh goodness! Well why were you just standing there for?” Jodi gently chided, smiling kindly. “It’s dinner time.” She skillfully pretended her eyes hadn’t skittered over Shane before her attention fell on Derek. “Would you like to join us?” _Okay, now it’s really time to leave,_ he thought, as color sunk further from his view.

“Ah, no- uh, th-thanks! But, I have to get home.” Derek stammered, only meeting Jodi’s eyes for a split second before his gaze set firmly on Shane. It was almost like he was mimicking her rude sweep over; but using it against her.

He wondered if Jodi caught it. If she had, she didn’t let on, simply humming an ‘okay’ and giving him an affectionate tap on the cheek before ushering an apologetic Sam inside. Once the front door closed, the two men let out a relieved sigh in synchrony. Derek’s curls were vibrant again as the boy smiled at him.

“Walk me home?”

* * *

“Um, so... thanks... for-” Shane jerked a thumb behind him vaguely. “For that.” The pair were strolling past the ranch, taking the southern entrance to the farm. Derek looked at him quizzically when he said that.

“For... calling it how I see it?” he joked with a confused snort. Shane grumbled and shook his head, regretting having spoken up. “What?” Now Derek had stopped walking, and Shane felt like someone had shined a spotlight on him.

“Nothing. Forget it,” he said, curtly. He tried to keep walking but then, a rustle of shopping bags was accompanied by the feel of a gentle hand on his elbow.

“Wait, no- c’mon.” Shane groaned loudly, turning with an exaggerated eye roll. He really didn’t want to get into this right now. Why the hell had his mouth decided it would be a good idea to open in the first place? “For what?” he pressed. Shane huffed and tore his elbow out of the red-head’s grasp.

“For not pretending you didn’t know me, okay? There! Fuckin’ happy now?!” he shouted. Derek flinched back and Shane really had to wonder when the previously cool and sardonic man had become so timid. He felt his temple bulging as he ground his molars together again, embarrassed and feeling more exposed than when he was in his fucking boxers in the hallway yesterday.

“Who the hell would do that?” Derek’s tone was incredulous, as if he couldn’t imagine how anyone with basic self-respect could take one look at the deadbeat in front of him and _not_ want to deny any sort of relation. Shane gestured by sweeping his hands through the air in front of his body for emphasis.

“Oh, knock it off. _Look at me,_ ” he cried in frustration. Suddenly, the Derek he knew was back – the fiery temper to match the fiery hair. But he didn’t receive the crude remarks about wallowing in self-pity that he fully anticipated.

“I _am,_ you blind bastard!” Derek shot back. “When are you gonna learn you don’t deserve to get spoken to like that?!” The red-head was yelling by now, and Shane was at least thankful that they’d made it onto the farm. The thought of someone walking in on the farmer trying to verbally beat some self-esteem into him was downright mortifying.

“When are _you_ going to learn that I’m not fucking worth your time?!” They were in each other’s faces now, like they had been during their first interaction at the bar. It was almost as if everything was coming full circle, but they weren’t simple strangers anymore. They knew too much and simultaneously not enough about each other. Their first verbal matches back then were just raw, unadulterated anger. This anger was _passionate,_ almost _desperate_ with both surface needs and hidden needs that couldn’t be spoken into the light of day.

“ _I’m_ the one who gets to decide that, Shane! _ME!_ ” Derek dropped the shopping bags with a frustrated huff, so he could free his right arm to prod Shane in the sternum. He had a love-hate relationship with that touch. “And who’s to say I’m even worth _your_ time?!” Shane’s face twisted in bewilderment.

“What?”

“You think you’re a broken fucking toy? Well damn it, _maybe I am, too._ ” Derek’s blue eyes were shinier than normal, and Shane realized with a slow panic that the man in front of him was about to cry. He found himself sputtering, trying to think of reasons _why_ the farmer kept feeling _solidarity_ in the decomposing thoughts festering in his skull.

“Look, if this is about...” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, trying again. “Um... what I saw yesterday-“

“ _You still look at me,_ ” Derek whispered fiercely, a tear slipping down his cheek. When Shane made another confused face, the farmer continued. “No one can seem to look at me in the fucking eye after finding out. They look at me like a bruised apple in the produce section. Or... or like I’m some frightened _bird._ ” Shane flicked his eyes back and forth between Derek’s, processing the pain he wasn’t even trying to cover up anymore. The pain that he was allowing to drip straight from his mind into Shane’s. He hadn’t felt the prickly protective feelings in a while, but now he felt them returning with a vengeance.

He didn’t know what to say, so he just said what he’d uttered in the solace of his thoughts when he’d clammed up on his porch: “Who am I to judge? What’s the difference between _that_ and what I do at Gus’s bar every damn day?” In a flash of movement, Derek’s right arm was around his shoulders, pulling him into a fierce hug.

Shane stood stunned, arms hanging stupidly at his sides. The only hugs he got nowadays were when Jas’s tiny arms circled around his knees or his neck. It was like he’d forgotten how to hug an adult back, so he just did what he normally did with Jas – and held the farmer. His hold was cautious, but his arms wrapped tighter when Derek’s did. He guessed he was doing _something_ right, then.

“You don’t know how much that means to me, Shane. You don’t know how much _you_ mean to me. So stop trying to tell me you do.” His whispers were warm against his shoulder and neck, and Shane realized with a gradual horror that this embrace was slowly bordering on not-so-innocent. He pulled his arms away hastily, rubbing the back of his neck and hoping the brim of his Joja hat hid the dark blush that was forming. When he dared glance back up, he saw pink cheeks and a slightly curious look. _Fuck, he can tell,_ Shane internally cursed. _Say something, idiot stick. Anything._

“What’re you gonna do when it gets hot as balls?” he blurted, gesturing to the farmer’s long sleeves. Then, he mentally face-palmed so hard that his eyes squeezed shut. Derek only chuckled lightly, though, and waited until Shane was done kicking his own ass behind his closed lids before raising a bag full of thrift shop clothing.

“Thinner shirts.” And just like that, they were both laughing again. As they walked in comfortable silence, though, Shane’s mind fiddled uncomfortably with confronting that this was really a non-solution. Surely, the farmer couldn’t keep on like this? _Surely, your drinking habits can’t keep on like this,_ he retorted bitterly.

He stubbornly argued that this was different, though. No one could see the scars on his liver. He didn’t have to go on a shopping spree to cover his alcoholism – unless you counted his newfound love for baggier hoodies. He stole glances at Derek as they walked.

He asked himself if friends were supposed to be this complacent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are changinggg~
> 
> Next chapter is the Flower Dance and it was one of the most fun things to write. See ya tomorrow!


	10. The Opposite of Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this was such a fun one to write. Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Also - side note: This isn't beta read, at all... so if you find mistakes in spelling, grammar, or plot, please leave me a comment so I can fix it!

Two days later and Shane wouldn’t have even needed an alarm had he set one, because Jas came barreling into his room at seven in the morning, waking him with a start.

“Uncle Shane, Uncle Shane! Wake up, wake up, _wake up!_ ” she squealed in excitement, placing her palms on the mattress so that she could use it as a support while her small frame bounced up and down. Shane groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm to block out the sunlight filtering through his blinds.

“Jasmine...” he croaked, voice laced with sleep. “One of these days, you’re gonna give this old man a heart attack.” He sighed and forced himself to sit up, blankets pooling in his lap, as she broke into giggles.

“Aunt Marnie is even older and _she_ likes when I wake her up,” the little girl said indignantly. Shane snickered with a shocked raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh-ho, not a good idea to point out her age, kid. She’ll get ya for that one.” He yawned loudly, stretching upwards as Jas gasped.

“Don’t tattle!” she begged. He chuckled and lifted her under the arms and cradled her in his lap like he used to do when she was younger. She instantly curled into his chest, still giving him her pleading look through big, purple eyes. He tightened his arms around her when a surge of affection ran through him and he made a sliding gesture across his mouth.

“My lips are sealed, little lady.” Pleased, she shot up again, face lighting up as she apparently remembered why she came into his room in the first place.

“Uncle Shane, we hafta find you something to wear for the Flower Dance!” She scrambled out of his lap and launched herself into his bedroom closet, clumsily sifting through random shirts and hoodies – some of which proceeded to fall off of their hangers.

“Woah, woah, woah there!” He hastily untangled from his comforter and lifted her into the air from behind, tickling her sides as she squirmed and squealed with glee. “I don’t recall KOZU 5 forecasting a tornado in my room,” he laughed.

“Put me down!” she giggled. After he obliged, she looked up at him with determination. “We gotta make you pretty!” At this, he smirked and rubbed his outgrown stubble.

“You sayin’ I’m not pretty, squirt?” She covered her mouth with both hands to muffle her laughter as she shook her head violently back and forth.

“No, silly! But you can’t dance in your _pajamas!_ ” She dove back into his closet, then, and continued her assault on his clothing. Finally, she extracted a forest green, short-sleeved dress shirt that didn’t actually seem as if it would constrict around his stomach. He took it from her, looking at it thoughtfully.

“Do you got pants?” She dashed to his dresser and was about to start ripping open his underwear drawer when he hauled her back.

“Yes, I _have_ pants,” he corrected her. “Quit going through my clothes before you find my stinky socks,” he teased, squatting to be eye level with her. She scrunched her nose with an adorable scowl.

“ _Ew!_ ”

“’Ew’ is right, kiddo. Now go on and let me get dressed,” he ruffled her hair and she playfully batted at his hand with a scoff.

“Okay but shower first,” she said with a sagely nod, before poking his cheek. “You smell like _boy._ ” He stuck his tongue out at her and she giggled a final time before dashing out of his room.

With her sunshine gone from the drab walls around him, his smile fell and he sighed as he ran a hand down one side of his face and looked at the carnage on the floor of his closet. He grabbed the shirt she’d picked out, along with a pair of khaki slacks and fresh briefs. With a towel over his shoulder, he trudged into the bathroom and remembered why he so vehemently hated this festival. Or really any event that forced him and his mirror into an uneasy reunion.

**Derek**

With a group of friends that were more than familiar with the town’s schedule, Derek was confident he’d never miss another event again. But then he’d learned that the one today was supposedly some form of couple’s dance, and he found himself almost wishing he’d slept through this one, too.

But he also wasn’t getting out of it, apparently, as Emily had so cheerily told him on Monday when she showed up bright and early to take his measurements. She told him she would make him a suit and when he came to the dance today, she’d have a changing room reserved for him.

He strolled to the spot that Lewis had given him directions to in the invitation letter. He wore one of his new shirts – light gray, thin, and long. When he finally stepped into the clearing – slightly out of breath – he saw Pierre at the entrance, manning a stand. _I swear,_ Derek’s thoughts mused. _If that man ain’t sellin’, he ain’t breathing._

“Nice to see you, farmer! I’ve got some wonderful items for sale today. Care to look?” The farmer gave him a half-smile and politely declined, eyes scanning for a crop of blue hair. What he spotted instead was surely a sight for sore eyes.

Because _damn,_ could Shane clean up. He was wearing a button-up green collared shirt; sleek, khaki dress pants; and a pair of brown dress shoes that matched his belt. He’d even _shaved._ He leaned against the refreshments table casually, holding a plate of pepper poppers in one hand and raising a red cup of what must’ve been punch to his lips with the other. Derek knew somewhere in the back of his suddenly empty mind that he was staring like a creep, and he forced his lungs to let in oxygen again before prying his eyes away. Immediately, he saw Emily waving him down by a row of changing stalls and he hurried over, praying his cheeks would stop fucking burning.

“Derek! So glad I didn’t have to drag you from that farmhouse kicking,” she giggled, wrapping him in a tender hug. He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “Here is your ensemble,” she sang, dropping a pile of lavender-colored clothes into his right arm. “As promised! Stall number three is all yours,” she pointed.

“Thank you so much, Em. Nice color choice, too,” he said with an appreciative eyebrow raise.

“Thanks, I thought it’d _suit_ you,” she giggled at her joke. Derek teased her, groaning exaggeratedly and making a mock-disgusted face before heading into the open stall. He closed the curtain and swapped his blue jeans for the light purple slacks she’d given him. He wondered if she’d had these on hand and simply tailored them for him or if she had actually made an entire set of clothes in two days.

As was his usual struggle everyday since he was deducted one arm, he fumbled with the pants button for a solid five minutes, huffing in frustration. Finally, tugging up the zipper, he turned around and groaned. She’d given him a white, long-sleeved dress shirt and a vest that matched the pants – but the buttons that unraveled down the front of both items taunted him.

He nervously gathered the rest of the suit and stepped out of the stall to see Emily had disappeared.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he whispered under his breath. He knew anyone would be willing to help him in his frustratingly injured state, but he was also not keen on having anyone see him shirtless. In fact, the only person that knew Derek’s secret was the one who he’d been making googly eyes at not too long ago.

He shifted from foot to foot anxiously, not realizing his eyes had drifted over to Shane of their own accord and proceeded to zone out. Eventually, the man must’ve felt a stare on him because he lifted his head from where he’d been focused on his plate of food, scanning before locking on Derek. They were too far away to talk without shouting, so the farmer just danced anxiously from foot to foot, hoping the other boy would get the message.

Thankfully, Shane gave him a small smile – one that dropped as soon as Derek had been allowed to see it – and carried his food and cup over to where he stood.

“’Sup?” he greeted with another sip of his drink. He’d scrawled his name near the top of the cup in black sharpie and Derek focused on that instead of the alluring green eyes or punch-reddened lips before him.

“U-uh... this is embarrassing,” he sighed, dropping his gaze and digging the toe of his sneaker in the grass. “But I can’t... well, I’m...” He huffed in frustration, feeling pathetic. _Get a fucking grip, man,_ he scolded himself harshly. “Look, it takes me, like, a century just to button my own goddamn pants and suddenly I’m expected to wear shirts with the slippery fuckers all _over_ ‘em.” He forced himself to make eye contact, deciding it would be weirder if he kept deliberately avoiding it, and saw Shane’s face pinken a bit. But then, as if to cover this up, he compensated with an amused smirk.

“Man, farmer. I tie your shoes for you and now you need me to _dress_ you? Thought I only had custody of one kid,” he teased. Derek pretended to pout, glaring at him.

“If you’re gonna be an ass, I can ask someone else,” he mumbled, unsuccessfully biting back a smile. Shane snorted and shook his head, before Derek felt the nerves resurge into his voice. “But seriously... you’re the only one that knows...” He dropped his gaze to what lay beneath the pile of clothing he carried. When his eyes darted back up, he saw Shane had gotten the message. “You’re the, um... you’re the only one I trust,” he finished, softly.

Shane stared at him for a moment, and Derek hated that he realized how much that green shirt brought out his beautiful eyes up close. Today, the farmer felt like Yoba’s personal punching bag. Shane then bent down, setting his stuff in the grass and nodding toward the changing stall behind Derek. Nerves still pooled in his stomach but he found a grateful smile for his friend and led them to the booth, closing the curtain behind them and setting the clothes down on the bench.

“What’s everyone gonna think when they catch the town drunk hiding in a dressing room with the cripple farmer?” Shane chuckled, earning himself a playful punch on his shoulder.

“You’re evil,” Derek chortled. “Came out of your mother with horns, I swear.” Shane tilted his head back, laughing, and they smiled stupidly at each other for a minute, before Derek felt the tell-tale fire in his cheeks again. “U-um, so-“ He fiddled uneasily with the hem of his new shirt.

“Oh, sorry... do you want me to-“ Shane pointed over his own shoulder at the wall and made like he was about to turn around. Derek chuckled awkwardly and shrugged.

“Um, guess there’s no point if you’re gonna be helpin’ me put that shit on anyway, right?” His laugh was forced, tight, and so was Shane’s as the other man scratched nervously at stubble that wasn’t there anymore.

“Right,” his friend muttered quietly.

“Well, first the sling needs to come off...” He turned his back to Shane, looking over his shoulder with a weak smile. Derek was technically capable of reaching the clasp back there, but he hoped that maybe this first step would help ease the tension that was suffocating the cramped space.

“Right,” Shane repeated, clumsily undoing the sling as Derek held his casted arm at the appropriate angle. Then, he sat on the bench and began the Twister-esque ritual of untangling himself from his shirt. It got stuck halfway up his back as it _always_ seemed to do, but instead of having to wrestle fabric for agonizing minutes on end, he felt warm fingers brush his skin as they curled around the shirt and finished lifting it off.

Once his curly hair had been roughed up by the collar of the thing, his head whipped up to lock eyes with Shane, the prepared ‘thank you’ dying on his lips as he was met with an extremely reddened face and slightly parted lips. The tension was so thick that it swaddled them like a winter coat, and Derek felt his forehead break out into a sweat. He saw Shane’s eyes drop to his bare chest before trying to cover it up by looking at Derek’s arm.

“You took the bandages off,” came his friend’s hoarse whisper. Derek let out a self-deprecating huff.

“Yeah, well... couldn’t risk havin’ a dance partner feelin’ them and getting any funny ideas.” He had just meant to tease but regretted it as soon as he saw Shane’s expression fall into guilt.

“Sorry ‘bout that...” Derek shook his head and stood, supporting his injured arm from gravity’s pull, still shirtless.

“Seriously, no worries. I’m just messin’.” Shane merely grunted in response and picked up the white dress shirt from the bench. Derek bit his lip worriedly, kicking himself for having such a big fucking mouth all the time. Together, they got the shirt on, and the farmer felt his breath hitch and his muscles flutter underneath Shane’s fingers when they accidentally brushed his skin while he buttoned it.

It was agonizing how the air kept flip-flopping between anxious and... well, that train of thought could die there.

Shane then unfurled the vest and carefully wrapped it around the farmer before buttoning that, too. His gentle palms even smoothed the fabric over the shoulders, and Derek was painfully aware that he was one errant touch from needing looser slacks. Shane slipped the sling back on and used his hands to turn Derek around – the farmer moving like fucking putty in his palms – to secure it back into place.

“’S a nice color,” Shane’s soft voice murmured. “Um... we should hurry, though. They’re probably about to start.” Derek’s fogged mind jolted awake as he realized they’d spent _way_ too much time in here. He swiveled around, nearly chest to chest with his friend.

“Shit, you’re right,” he whispered frantically. He snatched up his discarded gray shirt and was admittedly pleased when he straightened up again to find Shane hadn’t stepped out of his space. He gave the man a gentle smile. “Thanks... dunno what I would’ve done without you.”

“You’d probably still be trapped in that shirt.” Shane gestured at the fabric draped over his right elbow with a playful smirk.

“Oh, ha ha,” Derek said sarcastically. “Regular comedian, are you?”

“Here all night,” Shane replied with a half-bow. Derek laughed and shoved him from the stall, following him into the glowing sunlight. As they stumbled out and fell instep with each other, Derek looked out to the stage where the dance was set to start and he saw with mild alarm that people were already pairing off. Not only that, but all of the girls wore identical dresses alongside the men’s matching suits.

“What the fuck? No one said there was a dress code,” Derek panicked, turning his frantic eyes to Shane, who just shrugged.

“It’s your first year,” he pointed out casually. “Folks can’t expect you to just know.”

“What about _you,_ then?”

Another shrug. “Well- yeah, I just don’t give a shit.” Derek snorted and felt his heart rate simmer back down to normal, tension dropping from his shoulders. “Never liked the whole couple’s bullcrap anyways.” Shane’s tone was gruffer, eyes darkening. Derek didn’t need to play aloof and ask why – he knew.

“Yeah, it actually does look a bit too forced,” he agreed.

Shane hummed affirmatively. “Choreographed, too.”

Derek made a disgusted face. “You’re joking.”

His friend shook his head solemnly. “Down to the last step. Wouldn’t surprise me if they trained a few well-timed breezes, too.” The farmer would’ve laughed, but he was too busy being sorely disappointed.

“Why the hell did I bother coming, then? Dressin’ up?” Shane let out an amused scoff and took another sip of punch.

“I ask myself that every year.” Derek cocked his head curiously, turning to catch his friend’s eye.

“How long _have_ you been here?”

Shane fiddled with the rim of his cup, seemingly uncomfortable at the sudden turn of the conversation that made him the focus. “Err- this is only my third dance.”

“Have you ever participated?” One sarcastic look sent his way was his answer to that one. Derek took a breath, confidence deciding to pay his lonely body a visit. “Would you like to?” Shane gave him another look, and the farmer hurried to revise: “No, gross, not like that _mating_ _ritual_ shit over there. I mean... you know... just the... regular type.”

“You askin’ me to dance, farmer?” Shane asked, laughing in a gut-wrenching way that made Derek realize he legitimately thought it was a punchline. He wondered if maybe being blunt was the right course of action.

“Yes,” he deadpanned, eyes serious. Shane’s eyebrows flew into his bangs and he hid a blush with a final, draining pull of his drink. Crushing the empty cup as if it were a beer can, he side-eyed Derek suspiciously.

“Why me?”

“You’re a broken record, chicken boy,” he sighed with an eye roll. Then he remembered his mission of being blunt and added: “Because I want to.” Without waiting for an answer, he tossed Shane’s trash in a nearby bin and left his shirt behind as he grasped his hand and tugged him to an area that was a bit more secluded – populated with a few other pairs of dancers that preferred not having their footfalls timed.

**Shane**

He sputtered as the confident, calloused hand gripped his firmly and dragged him along like a stubborn dog. Shane saw too many heads turn their way. Too many people wondering what in the world the witty and handsome farmer was doing with a dolled-up dumpster at his heels. He tore his flushed face away from those patronizing stares to see he’d been brought to a different area of the festival’s clearing where other extraneous couples swayed.

“ _What are you doing?!_ ” he hissed at Derek, panic etched in his features. “Fuck, now you got people _looking._ ” The farmer tilted his head in confusion.

“Looking at...?” Shane growled in frustration, because he _knew_ Derek knew, but the red-head wanted him to spit it out for some sadistic reason. Probably to laugh at him or pity his worries, which he would undoubtedly deem unnecessary and stupid – as if he knew what it was like to be the black sheep. “Didn’t realize it bothered you that much.” The whispered words shocked Shane enough to swivel his frantically darting eyes back to his friend, whose shoulders were now sagging and lips drawn into a small frown, eyes downcast. And damn it, now he felt guilty for having the man be seen with him _and_ apparently hurting his feelings.

“Look,” Shane sighed heavily, gently dropping the red-head’s hand. “You really just don’t want to be associated with me. ‘Specially not at something like _this,_ okay?” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked up with vulnerable eyes, shaking his head.

“Why does it even matter?” His voice was pleading, and Shane became angrier at himself. Angry that he wasn’t a good enough image to paste next to Derek. Angry that he couldn’t seem to make the farmer understand. But most of all, angry that their relationship was _still_ hurtling at some uncontrollable and unstoppable speed that constantly had him wanting _more_ when he didn’t _deserve_ more, because he hadn’t deserved _any_ to begin with. He bitterly found himself thinking he should’ve gone through with his goodbyes last winter and avoided this entire fucked up last laugh that the world had thrown into his lap.

“ _Because it does!_ ” Shane hadn’t realized his vocal cords were preparing the yell, until his words were coming out too loud. Way too loud to go unnoticed by the intrusive gossipers he’d spotted earlier. He registered Derek’s flinch somewhere in the back of his mind, but it didn’t matter because the other ninety percent of his brain was _reeling._ A fire must have been stoked right in front of him, because his face felt hot enough to melt off. His chest was heaving, desperately drawing in the spring air.

“Shane.”

His hands were trembling, curled into tight fists, eyes glaring at the grass tickling his shoes.

“Shane, look at me.” The tone was firm, demanding. He reluctantly lifted his head, almost afraid of what he’d see when his heat-filled eyes let the image come into focus.

Blue.

All he saw was blue. Shimmering like the surface of Cindersap in the moonlight. Strong like Jas’s grip on his leg when she was scared and needed his unique brand of comfort. Gentle like Jillian’s embrace – and oh _fuck,_ she just broke out of brain prison and he wasn’t freaking out. What the hell was going on?

“Focus, Shane. It’s just you and me.” The voice had dropped to a whisper and Shane realized the blue that filled his vision and demanded even his darkest thoughts’ attention was _Derek._ He hadn’t even noticed how _close_ the farmer had gotten, but now he could feel the steady breaths drift over his skin, as if showing his lungs how to operate.

“No one else,” Derek whispered again. Shane felt familiarly textured fingers entwine with his, and as his breathing returned to normal, the rest of his surroundings tentatively reinvited themselves into his senses. He heard the cheerful music that hadn’t fallen into disgusted silence. He heard the cadence of background conversation that hadn’t soured into harsh whispers. Shane felt his fingers curl back in return and he was suddenly holding hands with the man who kept willingly breathing in the same air as him.

“ _Dance_ with me, Shane.” His gently clasped hand was pulled forward, until fingers untangled with his as the hand guided his palm to press against a plane of silky fabric; a waist. Derek’s freed arm snaked forward to rest on Shane’s shoulders. A warm hand cupped the back of his neck; a thumb buried itself in the hair there that he always tugged when he was anxious and he felt it moving in soothing arcs. Everything around him smelled like _Derek_ and he found that if he could bottle this moment, it would rival heroin.

It was then he noticed they were moving. Slow and not at all in time with whatever song was playing. But it didn’t matter, because nothing beyond the space of Not Derek mattered. They swayed to nothing, answered to no one, belonged nowhere. In that moment, Shane realized what the farmer was doing – he was _grounding_ him. Not just shoving him hastily in his skin after he’d been dissociating, zipping him up, and calling it a day; but tucking him so firmly into the moment that not even his fucked up brain could reach him.

Being grounded, he realized, was _so goddamn nice._

He didn’t need to think. He didn’t need to plan. Didn’t need to rot. Just needed to _be._ Had he ever simply done that before?

Therefore, Shane didn’t mind when the blue slowly disappeared behind fluttering eyelids, a warm forehead tilting to rest against his. Because he could just close his eyes, too. So he did. And, predictably, blue was there waiting for him.

He held Derek and Derek held him as they moved soundlessly, unaware of every single thing around them. It was a blessing, too, because the shocked and curious gazes they didn’t see would have spoiled it. The uneasy questions they didn’t hear would have shattered it.

It could’ve been minutes; it could’ve been hours. Neither man knew. They also didn’t realize the festival had ended a while ago, because the entire valley was as good as empty as soon as Shane floated in blue. The only sound allowed into their space was a grieving soul’s choked whisper:

“ _Thank you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Floating.


	11. Right Under Your Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the 4-heart event! More secrets get revealed and more realizations step into the light.  
> Also, this particular Sunday lasts through the beginning of chapter 14. 
> 
> I still do not know how one day became so many words but it is a very important day, to say the least!

As spring drew to a close, Derek spent sun-up to sun-down on his farm. He had gotten wrapped up in so many different tasks, events, and social excursions that he had only been doing the bare minimum; and his wallet suffered for it.

“I’m never touching another potato in my life,” he grunted to himself as he yanked another brown blob from the ground. He was also more than over his broken arm. He couldn’t ask Robin for a coop because he had nowhere to put it – and he had nowhere to put it because he could barely heft an axe over his head, let alone use it. His sprinkler system was also pitiful, with pipes he couldn’t neatly dig, pumps that were unevenly staked into the dirt, and the ones he did have were hand-me-downs since sprinkler supplies were conveniently located in the – you guessed it – motherfucking mines. On the last day of spring, he murdered any crops that hadn’t ripened; they’d die in tomorrow’s unwavering heat anyway. He also decided it was time to swallow his pride and ask for help.

And he knew just where to find it.

**Shane**

As spring drew to a close, Shane spent sun-up to sun-down in hell. Summer might only have been knocking on everyone else’s door, but it was already crashing on Shane’s couch – sweltering, suffocating, and unbearable. The few days since the Flower Dance had only really proven to him that no amount of solace or comfort he got would ever make shit smell like roses.

Marnie had asked him questions about the dance, but he gave her very little in return. Maybe she was just trying to be playful and _involved_ in his life, but his brain also wondered if perhaps she was only interested because it involved Derek – a much more pleasant conversation topic than her nephew. He’d snapped at her yesterday, getting just downright fed up with how much he wanted the disappointment and pity and anger back. Those emotions were so much easier to confront than the ones she tried to get him to address.

He’d gotten his wish that day _and_ this morning because as he passed the kitchen on the way to a shower, he spotted one of Harvey’s paper prescription bags sitting on the counter. Only a day early, but early, nonetheless. _Cliffs, bus, mines, lake,_ became his internal mantra.

To make matters worse, the stares and whispers he’d avoided when Derek blocked out the world around them had been more than happy to patiently wait. He hated walking through town, feeling eyes on him constantly. His brain cackled along with any lick of laughter his ears caught, convincing him that it was his name that was being jostled around like a dog’s chew toy.

The biggest joke of them all was that the only place he seemed to be able to escape small town judgment was between the aisles of JojaMart. His bedroom was a close second, when Marnie wasn’t trying to coax him out of it. Said bedroom had also become his drinking spot – because if he thought the town square was bad, the saloon was fucking Chernobyl for him. He’d only spent an hour in total there since the dance, making his leave when the three kids that Derek seemed to be hanging out with nowadays had shown up for their weekly pool games – oddly, Derek-less – and he’d caught Sebastian glaring at him too many times.

So here he sat on a late Sunday morning, tearing through two six-packs like he’d decided upon waking that he was drinking himself to death on his bedroom floor. JojaMart had a weekend sale going on, and Shane hated himself enough today to visit his workplace out of uniform to solidify that he was a hopeless alcoholic. He also hadn’t seen Derek at all since the dance, but he figured that the end of a season was probably rough for a farmer. A farmer with bigger goals and a longer list of accomplishments than Shane could dream of, surely.

He was buzzed by 10AM, drunk by noon, and completely wasted soon thereafter. He stared at the red numbers on his clock, as darkness took over his vision. Then, his carpet was under his cheek. Funny how he didn’t recall laying down. He might’ve vomited, too, but it was fine because the darkness was going to whisk him away and whatever happened next just wasn’t his fucking problem.

* * *

Cold. Wet. Water in his nose. Had he finally plunged into the lake?

His body jerked into the waking world with a start, his lingering inebriation dragging an uncoordinated hand to slap the droplets from his face. The taste in his mouth made his stomach lurch painfully and he felt his brain _throbbing_ in his skull. Then, he realized he wasn’t alone.

Standing above him was none other than Pelican Town’s newest red-head, looking guiltily at his dripping watering can. _What the fuck?_ his aching mind struggled to catch up. He wasn’t given much more time, though, before Marnie’s voice dug into him.

“Shane, this is getting to be too difficult to bear,” she scolded, voice wavering. _You’re preachin’ to the choir,_ he thought bitterly. Didn’t she understand that’s what the alcohol was for? Maybe she should try it sometime. “All you’ve been doing for the past few days is constantly lock yourself in here and drink yourself blind. It’s never been great, but I can’t sit here and pretend you aren’t drinking yourself into an early grave.” Shane snorted, and then laughed bitterly – broken chunks of vocalization that held no mirth.

“Y’ ever think that maybe tha’s the goddamn _point,_ Marn?” he cried in exasperation. From his position still on the floor, he hadn’t seen Jas eavesdropping from behind Marnie and Derek. But he heard her distinct sob and as his aunt shot him a hurt glare, his stomach finally gave up on him and he retched unending guilt. He was sobbing into his soiled rug when he vaguely realized that Derek hadn’t left yet.

Shane waited, crying without much more self-consciousness than a fucking walnut, for his footsteps to retreat. He waited. And waited. He was reduced to meager sniffles by now, yet those recognizable muddy boots were still planted in his periphery. Then, as predicted, they were finally moving – shuffling away. But that wasn’t where his door was. A strong hand wrapped itself around his left bicep and tugged with an alarming amount of strength. Had the farmer been lifting with the jock lately?

Neither of them said a word, as Shane was too hungover and distraught to protest being led into the bathroom. He could barely follow the movement of time or any sense of direction, as he simply followed the warm grip on his arm. It was almost like dissociating, but with none of the clarity and all of the sour. Once in the bathroom, he was made to sit in front of the toilet – presumably in case his stomach started another revolt. Fingers plucked at the back of his white t-shirt that was as soiled as his bedroom rug.

“Off,” Derek commanded in a soft tone. Shane shook his head sloppily. No, the farmer needed to be going home, not trying to take care of him or clean him up or do anything other than let him fester like an open wound. He’d hurt Marnie but, more importantly, he’d hurt Jas. The only thing he deserved right now was laying like a pig in his own mess. But, as always, the red-head was unrelenting. “Don’t make me cut it off,” he warned.

Shane grumbled incoherently, dead eyes fixated on the toilet water as he clumsily clawed his shirt over his head and chucked it back towards the bathroom door. Then, he heard the squeak of a shower knob, followed by the water being redirected to the tub faucet. While it gradually warmed, he saw Derek open the cabinet under the sink and fetch out a few washcloths.

“Wha’r you doin’,” Shane slurred, barely able to push sounds out of his still foul mouth. He groaned, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the toilet rim. “Uhn... needa mint.”

“Staying. That’s what I’m doing.” The sink was turned on for a few moments before something cold tapped his clammy cheek. He lifted his heavy head to see a glass of water being held out to him. He reluctantly forced himself to look all the way up at Derek, whose eyes only held a quiet determination. He gingerly took the glass and raised it to his chapped lips, using the first few mouthfuls just to rinse the bile off his tongue before gulping down the rest. The glass was taken from him and the shower knob squeaked again as the water was shut off, leaving the steam behind.

“Why?” Shane finally whispered.

“I’ve decided I’m gonna charge you five bucks every time you fuckin’ ask me that. So keep goin’, ‘cause I really need a kitchen.” Derek’s voice sounded so _tired_ and it made Shane feel worse that he was the source of that exhaustion, just as he was the source of Marnie’s migraines. He heard a small splash from the tub and watched Derek soak one of the washcloths in the warm water that had pooled in the basin, adding a small amount of Shane’s body wash.

“I’m disgusting,” he mumbled miserably. Then, he heard the red-head sit behind him and take in his slumped over form.

“Eh, vomit’s the only yucky bit.” The warm washcloth was suddenly at the nape of his neck, rubbing in small, gentle circles. The smell of his familiar soap was comforting, and he gave in. He’d given into Derek’s frustrating persistence enough times to stop kidding himself at this point. It was becoming more painful to fight than not. “I never knew... it was this serious,” Derek whispered as he lathered Shane’s sagging shoulders and wilting back.

“Wha’ y’ mean?” he found himself asking the toilet bowl, voice coming out feeble and slightly muffled.

“I mean I know you _drink,_ but I didn’t know...” The washcloth paused, droplets of water trickling down his skin. He heard the farmer take a shaky breath. “Fuck, Shane, this whole time I thought you just wanted... that you were just... filling a role... or something.” Shane heard a small sniffle. Was he crying? “Town drunk. Every small shit hole has one, someone’s gotta do it, right?” A wet splat indicated the now cold washcloth being tossed on the floor, and a fresh one was loaded with more warm water and soap. When Derek spoke again, his voice was nothing more than a pained whimper, as he dragged the fabric over Shane’s somber body in long downward strokes; like trying to coax the poison from his skin: “But I didn’t know you wanted to fucking _die._ ”

Every word hit him like a brick as Shane searched the toilet water for answers. An explanation, an apology, reassurance, a _‘No, no it’s not like that at all – it was just the heat of the moment’_. But Derek didn’t deserve his lies. Not that Shane had been managing to get any past him recently anyways.

So he sat there silently as Derek finished washing his back, then his arms – even allowing himself to be turned around so the farmer could access his chest and the stomach he was too self-conscious to look at. He’d never had anyone who stayed, let alone someone who was so _gentle_ and _unimposing_. No one who had seen his mess had bothered with the aftermath. Maybe – just this once – it was nice to feel cared for, regardless of whether or not he deserved it, since that never seemed to stop the other man to begin with. That thought gave him the courage he needed to admit:

“Derek... I don’t think- I don’t think I can be in this house today.” The red-head was focused on dabbing water into his cheeks and brow as he said this, but his eyes drifted back to Shane’s once the words had gotten out. He expected an awkward, but gentle let down. Or maybe a polite non-solution. But he was starting to learn expectations were stupid when it came to his friend. Instead, Derek’s blue eyes filled with relief and he smiled softly.

“As long as you don’t mind comin’ to band practice with me later.”

“Wh- you’re in a band?” Shane asked incredulously. Derek nodded.

“Yup, as of exactly one week ago. With Abigail, Sam, and Sebastian – I’m the lead singer.”

“You _sing?_ ” Why did Shane suddenly feel like he knew nothing about the man in front of him? He felt unnecessary jealousy pang in his stomach at the thought of Derek being more open with his other friends. But then he recalled the Flower Dance; Derek looking at him desperately, the top half of his suit weighing intimidatingly in his arm.

_‘You’re the only one that knows...’_

_‘You’re the only one I trust.’_

He felt stupid at the unwelcome emotions surging forward. Shane wasn’t the farmer’s only friend, and the value of their friendship wasn’t weighed in a currency of secrets.

“Yeah, I used to do it a lot more but...” He broke from Shane’s gaze and picked idly at his fingernails. “It was, uh... it was during my first placement.” Before he could get more confused, Derek continued with a dry chuckle, like a metal chair on concrete. “I’d just lost everything... my whole world tipped over in one day like it was nothing. I was still, like... you know... half-expecting to wake up to mom and dad in the kitchen... where I could tell them all about the fucked up nightmare I’d just had.” He met Shane’s eyes again and sighed heavily, the exhaustion showing through again. “All I knew how to do was sing. Sing when I’m happy, sing when I’m bored, sing when I’m scared... so that’s what I did that night. Quietly. Into this dark ass, musty room.” An almost nostalgic smile lifted one corner of Derek’s lips before it faltered and fell again. “Then the stranger who was supposed to be... my substitute parent or some shit... she barged in through the door and- wanna know what she said? To the kid who wasn’t even 48 hours an orphan?” His eyes drifted to the ceiling, blinking back unshed tears. “She told me to shut the fuck up and go to sleep,” he whispered.

The downside of developing that pesky protectiveness for Derek, Shane realized, was how hard his heart broke for the shattered boy of the past who had only reached out to the fire for warmth and had gotten burned instead. How much his entire _chest_ ached for the loosely glued together man of the present who just wanted everything to stop being so dark and musty.

Somehow, this felt more intimate than the Flower Dance. This was even more intimate than what lay underneath his sleeves. This was _trauma_ and Shane was beside himself with disbelief as he realized how unrehearsed and clumsy his words were. Like they hadn’t ever been exposed to the open air before. As if for some utterly _unfathomable reason,_ he was the only soul that knew. And _fuck,_ if his heart didn’t disintegrate further.

When those blue eyes came back, he seemed a bit more composed, if not just resigned.

“So I did,” he said with a shrug. “’Till I was twenty-eight. And I moved here. And I woke up.”

* * *

“You _sure_ they said it would be fine?” Shane heard himself grumble as his footsteps clomped on the dirt in front of them. “You know Sebastian hates my freaking guts, right?”

After Derek had finished throwing Shane’s heart and head for a spin, he’d stepped out to let him shower properly – as he’d been sobered up quite a bit at that point, understandably. While he was washing and desperately trying to cram too many things into Not Thinking land, the farmer had supposedly given his band members a heads up about his tag-along. He could already see that goth kid’s scowl.

“I honestly don’t know how you two don’t get along. You’re both the biggest grumps I’ve ever met,” he shot Shane a lopsided grin. Said grump then proceeded to yank his hand from his pocket and flip him off, eliciting a booming laugh from his friend. “Yeah, yeah,” the red-head mused.

Shane shrugged as his mind returned to the first part of the comment. “I dunno. Always assume people hate seein’ my ugly mug at the saloon for hours on end.” He tried to deliver his half-joke as light-hearted as Derek did, but his voice just kept flattening. He hated how goddamn pitiful he sounded all the time. He wondered when the farmer would get sick of it, too.

“I mean... Seb smokes, like, half a pack a day, so,” Derek scoffed lightly, unphased by his friend’s self-deprecation. “Don’t think he has room to give you shit.”

Shane caught his eye and snorted, amused. “Damn, you talk about all your friends like that?” _You talk about me like that?_ He watched as Derek shrugged, seeming suddenly very uncomfortable, and broke the eye contact in favor of the dirt at his feet.

“Like I said the other day – I call it how I see it,” he said, quietly. The pair were almost at the town square by now. Shane could see it approaching in the distance, and he felt too exposed again. “If my friend is on some bullshit, I speak up. If they’re in a bad way, I let ‘em know.” Shane’s hands were fidgeting in his pockets, uncomfortable with how much this conversation was starting to feel targeted at him. Uncomfortable with how many times the farmer had done those exact things for him because he was always too stupid to _not_ be on ‘some bullshit’.

As if to prove it: “Love to know what you say about _me_ behind my back,” he muttered, bitterly, kicking a stray pebble further down the dirt road.

“Actually,” the farmer started with a small huff of realization. “I don’t mention you at all when I’m with other people.” Shane’s head rose in confusion, and of course Derek was already looking at him. The red-head must’ve seen the bafflement written on his face and he shook his head, mumbling a soft: “You’ll think I’m stupid...” What? Then Derek was _blushing._ It was slight, but Shane had admittedly seen it too often by now not to recognize it. Maybe one day he’d admit it was a lovely sight, too. “I just...” Derek stopped walking and looked up at the evening sky, as if praying to last rays of sun. “I dunno, I guess I just always felt our friendship was so fragile, you know? Like if I said something about it, it’d shatter. Didn’t wanna lose it.” At this, he lowered his gaze to meet his again, as if confirming he were still there.

Shane had stopped by this point, too, turning and facing the farmer with that confusion still contorting his face. Derek squeezed his eyes shut briefly as he shook his head and waved his hand in a comical display of embarrassed back pedaling.

“N-never mind. Forget it, I... I told you it was stupid.” But then Shane was shaking his head, too, because _‘no, that’s not what I think and if you just give me a minute for my brain to connect to my idiot mouth, I can tell you.’_ In the meantime, he just waved his head back and forth like a broken bobble-head figure. Then he rubbed his lips together as if that would dissolve whatever adhesive had been slipped there. But that made Derek’s eyes dart to his mouth and then they were _both_ blushing, and why were they so goddamn ridiculous all the time?

“No. Not stupid.” The words came out blunt as he forced them out, suddenly sounding like he was down to his last two brain cells. “It’s just...” he sighed. “I just...” _Oh, brilliant,_ his thoughts snickered at him. _Maybe you’ll get a whole sentence out before the leaves turn._

But then, as if every single unfilled silence he’d ever had with Derek were cracks in his caving resolve, the dam finally broke. His voice came out hurried and almost angry, with the gait of a newborn calf: “I just freeze up every time you say shit like that to me because I’ve only ever had one friend that’s _bothered_ to say shit like that to me and he’s fucking _dead_ now so I’d gotten used to being dead, _too_ ; but then _you_ come along and you _say shit like that to me_ and you dance with me at a stupid ass _festival_ and you spill your fucking guts to me in my bathroom after I’d just spilled mine all over the front of my shirt like some _pig,_ and _you-_ “ But then he choked because he hadn’t realized how much water had been behind that dam until too much of it was rushing out.

He was shaking like a leaf with emotional adrenaline, preparing for... he actually didn’t know what the hell he could prepare for anymore when it came to Derek. It certainly wasn’t a right arm that slung around his shoulders and pulled him against the farmer tightly. It certainly wasn’t a face buried into the crook of his neck, or the realization that his arms were hugging back.

“I love you, too, bud.”

And it should have been a happy moment – it should have made Shane elated. But it _didn’t_ because something else had leaked out when the dam broke. Something that ached for Derek to just _knock off that last word._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapter covers band practice! Which means it will feature another song~


	12. Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a VERY light dash of NSFW towards the end there. Just a wee bit (;
> 
> Featured song: "Scar Tissue" by Red Hot Chili Peppers  
> Even the band name is stupidly perfect.

As Derek knocked on Sam’s front door, he snuck a side glance at Shane. The man was staring pointedly at his feet, hands shoved so far into his pockets that he was slouching to bury them as deep as they’d go. It made the farmer wonder for the perhaps the fiftieth time today if maybe he should have called a rain check on this. Shane had been through enough today, and now his selfish, red-headed friend was making him face his social anxiety in the same breath.

He was also mentally kicking himself for what he’d said after Shane’s tirade. While the words had seemed right at the time, now they just tasted sour on his tongue – like a promising dish that had _one_ unfortunate spice that soiled the entire meal. He couldn’t decipher the look Shane wore afterwards, either. Was it possible for five little words to be destructive?

He was torn from his spiraling thoughts as Sam swung the front door open with his usual cheer that had Derek releasing a bit of his tension.

“Perfect, you both made it!” the blonde beamed, before stepping back and ushering them inside. “Glad you came, Shane. Always wondered what you were like outside of that Joja dump,” he said, giving his now-shocked coworker a playful bump on the shoulder. Derek didn’t know if Sam and Shane got along at work, but the guitarist hadn’t seemed to be anything other than apologetic and even shy when the latter called him out for playing hooky on Monday. And judging by how Shane didn’t immediately begin scowling at being addressed, let alone _jostled,_ made the farmer assume they were at least amicable.

Shane only shrugged. “Oh, uh... thanks, I guess,” he mumbled. Sam took his awkwardness in stride, obviously accustomed to it, and chuckled.

“Follow me, boys, we got some music to make.” The endless enthusiasm had coaxed a smile onto Derek’s face and in that moment, he allowed a small dollop of hope to plant in his chest. Hope that dragging Shane here wouldn’t backfire. Hope that these two wildly different branches of friendships could begin merging today.

When they stepped into the room, though, the farmer immediately had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy.

Abigail’s head shot up from where she’d been texting behind her drum kit, meeting Derek’s eyes and beaming.

“Derek!” she chirped, happily. Then her gaze fell on Shane she seemed almost shocked. “Oh, he actually came.” But her smile was still reaching her eyes and he recognized Abby’s ever-present aloof demeanor.

The farmer rolled his eyes playfully at her. “Blunt as ever, aren’t ya?” He poked Shane’s slouched shoulder, adding: “It only took a _little_ begging.” His friend shot him another side glance, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards for a split second. Small victories. He turned his head to see Sebastian refusing to look up from his synth, pretending to nonchalantly finagle through some melody – but the fingers that prodded just a tad too harshly told a different story. “ _Hello,_ Sebastian,” he teased with a small snort.

The dark-haired man looked up at him with a sarcastic smile. “ _Hi,_ Derek,” he mocked before his deliberately faked grin and his gaze dropped back down to abuse the keys again. It stung and the hope was blown out like the fragile candle flame it’d been.

Abigail huffed with a groan. “Jealousy’s a disease, Sebby. Get well soon.” What the hell did that mean? Sebastian’s pale face suddenly grew bright pink and he whirled to face her.

“You’re just _asking_ for my foot up your ass today,” he threatened.

Sam stepped between them, lopsided grin plastered to his face. “Ladies, ladies... settle.”

Abigail flicked her gaze to Derek with a pointed look. “Sorry,” she quipped. “He’s been in a”—she shot another glare at Sebastian—“ _mood,_ lately.” This made the red-head laugh and turn around to face Shane – who looked like he’d rather be on the fucking moon than in this bedroom – and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder, drawing another scurried glance his way.

“See, that’s what I’m saying!” Derek chortled. “You two are two sides of the same fuckin’ coin.”

“We gonna play or what?” Sebastian snapped from behind him. Sam and Abigail shared a look, shaking their heads with matching annoyed-but-affectionate smiles.

“Yes, your Highness,” Sam sighed, looping himself into his guitar strap. “Shane, feel free to sit on the bed or wherever.”

Abigail lugged the microphone stand from its corner and Derek strolled over to it obediently, watching out of the corner of his eye as Shane moved stiff legs over to Sam’s bed and sunk onto it unceremoniously, his frame seeming to crumple further in on itself. In that moment, the farmer decided he’d rather be on the moon, too.

“Everyone got the songs pulled up?” Sam asked, swiveling around to look at the rest of them. They’d made up a set list over text that consisted of a bunch of cover songs. They had all agreed that while they worked on lyrics for their originals, they could at least practice _something_ in the meantime. _‘Can’t have those pipes rusting up on us,’_ Sam had so eloquently put it to Derek.

Everyone nodded at each other, and the farmer whipped out his phone to double-check. When he reminded himself of the first song on the list, he snorted. Because it was kind of fucking perfect. He snatched a glance at Shane and was pleased to find beautiful green eyes glancing right back. He addressed the band, but looked at his friend: “From the top?”

Sam began plucking out the intro notes effortlessly, the recognizable melody instantly making Derek’s shoulders relax. Abigail nailed her entry – which was just a few beats before the farmer’s – and he didn’t even have time to suddenly be nervous about how he just realized he was about to sing in front of _Shane;_ and he was going to close his eyes like he’d been conditioned to, but they disobeyed him and locked with green instead. Then his lips were moving:

_“Scar tissue that I wish you saw,_

_Sarcastic Mr. Know-it-all.”_

And he was so fucking glad his eyelids hadn’t obstructed the way those emerald eyes opened wider – like Shane had just _truly_ entered the bedroom.

_“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you,_

_‘Cause with birds I’ll share-”_

And Derek almost fumbled his words because his stupid brain was more than happy to point out that he was technically singing _at_ Shane while ‘kiss’ fell from his lips, and it had certainly not gone over the head of the other man if his reddened cheeks had anything to say about it.

_“With birds I’ll share this lonely view, and_

_With birds I’ll share this lonely view, and_

_With birds I’ll share this lonely view.”_

As he hit the high note on the last 'view', Shane was smiling wide and even though his posture was still awkward and uneasy, his face spoke of serenity. That is, until Sebastian interrupted Sam’s proceeding guitar solo:

“That should be good for now, yeah?” the voice blurted with a barely contained curt edge. “If we play the entire song, we’ll never get through this set tonight.” Derek saw the reasoning behind it – truly. But this was still only the second time he’d had the courage to sing in front of _anyone_ in _years_ and his insecurities had barely even scabbed over and being cut off was the worst trigger.

He yanked his eyes from Shane’s, staring into the grid-like pattern on the mic and gripping it tightly, willing 16-year-old Derek not to lose his _shit_ in 28-year-old Derek’s body.

“Gotta use the bathroom.” The gruff voice forced him to look up and he saw Shane had stood, hands fidgeting in his pockets and glaring at the floor like he was two seconds from ripping open the earth below him.

Not even Sam could hide the anxious tinge to his voice as several layers of tension had just been simultaneously slammed on top of them all. “Y-yeah sure, man. Hook a right and it’s the second door.” Shane gave a curt nod and walked away briskly from whatever the hell was happening. Derek envied him. All four of them stood in awkward silence until they heard another door close faintly from down the hall.

“So are you two a thing or what?” Abigail’s matter-of-fact voice cut through the silence first. Sam gave her an incredulous look, which made the purple-haired girl hold her hands up in a defensive shrug. “What? We’re all thinking it.” She gave Derek a soft smile. “Everyone saw you two at the dance. It was kind of adorable,” she giggled. Sam groaned and the farmer heard keys being mashed again from behind him.

“N-no, I-“ he stammered, dimly aware of his cheeks burning. “We’re just-“ But his throat slammed closed, not allowing the next word to pass through.

“If I wanted to listen to gossip all night, I would’ve stayed home with Mom,” Sebastian spat. “Can we just fucking play?”

Derek felt himself cringe again, the scab being torn further, and he found himself shaking his head and slinking from behind the microphone to gingerly sit on Sam’s bed. “I-I need a break,” he muttered hastily.

Abigail threw her hands up in surrender, looking genuinely confused. “It was an honest question! Honestly, like... I can see it.” She shrugged again, throwing Sam a helpless look.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass _what_ Derek and that jerk-off ‘are’. I came here to fucking _play._ ” Sebastian was grinding his teeth together so hard, the farmer could see one of his temples pulsing angrily. Why did he hate Shane so goddamn much? What had he ever done? Whatever it was, he couldn’t imagine it deserved this level of callousness, and Derek found his right hand curling into a fist.

He hissed: _“Can you stop talking about him like he’s not right fucking h-“_

Then, the bedroom door opened and the universe shoved another handful of popcorn in its stupid mouth as Shane froze, realizing that whatever conversation that had been going on had pointedly died as soon as he re-entered. And it didn’t take the hyper-awareness of crippling social anxiety to piece together why that may be.

 _Love to know what you say about_ me _behind my back._

Derek had to say something and he had to say it _fast,_ because so many tiny things had just collided into a perfect little storm and he’d gained too much ground with Shane to risk backsliding. Explanations would seem shallow and forced, though. He knew embarrassment was a flammable emotion, and any more fuel into Shane’s would surely cause combustion.

So he continued seamlessly instead, and glared at Sebastian, hurt and angry. “I don’t know why you’re being such an _ass_ today, Seb, but it’s not _cool._ It fuckin’ _hurts_ and I don’t deserve it. _Shane_ doesn’t deserve it.” He was shaking and he was even more pissed when tears threatened to make an appearance. “A-and I don’t _wanna_ play if you’re gonna talk to me like that.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam’s voice soothed. “Let’s all just take a breather, yeah? Step back a minute and-“

“ _Then get out if you don’t want to participate!_ ” Sebastian interrupted their mediator with a yell.

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?!” Shane’s shoulders were no longer crumpled, but slightly squared, as Derek saw him whip around to face Sebastian. The dark-haired man opened his mouth to spit something back, but Shane was already continuing: “Look, I don’t give a damn what you say about me. It’s whatever. Same shit, different day. But you better watch what you say to him or _I swear to Yoba, I’ll-_ “

Then Jodi burst through the door.

And boy, was she pissed.

“Everyone, go home,” she said, her eyes cold yet also scathing. “All of you.” Her penetrating glare snapped to her son, who Derek swore flinched. “You and I are going to have some words.” Then she stepped to the side and held Sam’s bedroom door open as four adults shuffled out with their tails between their legs.

As soon as they stepped out the front door, Sebastian was storming off and Abigail was turning to face Derek, moving forward and grasping him by the arms gently.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s up with him.” Then, she winced. “Well... I kind of do... b-but not really.” _Oh, very helpful,_ his thoughts grumbled. She then swiveled to focus on Shane, who seemed like he was drowning on dry land – eyes giving his feet that familiar stormy glare. “We don’t know each other much but... Derek’s right. You didn’t deserve that.”

_You don’t know what the hell I deserve._

That retort didn’t resurface, thankfully, but he didn’t move or make any indication that he’d heard her, either. Derek wrapped Abigail in a quick embrace, before stepping back and offering her a small smile.

“Thanks, Abby,” he breathed. She smiled back and then narrowed her eyes in a playful glare.

“Don’t you dare think about quitting on us, either. Sebby may bitch, but he _does_ like you.” If Derek had blinked, he would’ve missed the way her eyes widened for a millisecond, like she’d had a mini-panic attack. The farmer decided to ignore her weird quirks and chuckled softly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he reassured her.

Then, she waved goodbye and he was left with a small storm cloud beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Shane. “I didn’t think it would... be like that.”

“’S whatever,” the cloud gruffed.

“But I’m also not sorry.” Then, rainy green eyes were on his. “Because I enjoyed every second of singing to you.” He moved a half-step closer, across the porch. “And every second of chastising Sebastian for being such a dick to you.” Another half-step, and the porch was suddenly very small. “And every second of you being there for me right back.” His arm was folding over Shane for the second time that day, embracing him in such a vastly different way than he did Abigail or his other friends. “And every second of you being _there,_ ” he whispered against Shane’s neck. He felt goosebumps form there.

And boy, would he never get tired of feeling those large arms curl around him, and just _hold on._

Out of the few hugs they’d shared thus far, this one was the most frustrating because his stupid fucking _arm_ was always plastered to his body, an unwelcome separator. He drew back with a huff and used his right hand to lift the ‘L’ up and above his head, cocked towards the sky.

“Der- wh- don’t do that!” Shane stammered, caught off guard by both the terminated hug and the haphazard movements of the farmer. But Derek just moved closer, slowly lowering his left arm and tugging the dark blue sling’s strap outward to make more room.

“Shut up and get in,” he murmured. The other man only had a moment longer to be confused before Derek had lowered the sling so it encompassed both of them. He was grateful in that moment that they were the same height, or else his arm hanging down Shane’s back might’ve been at an awkward or downright painful angle. But the red-head didn’t mind if a little pain was the only consequence, because when they hugged this time, he finally felt that broad chest against his.

Shane was draped around him again and Derek noticed that the entire lengths of their bodies were pressed flush together. Since his left arm had become the shoulder-holder, his right one pulled Shane close by the waist.

Derek realized, once again, that this certainly didn’t feel like a ‘friend’ hug. Friend hugs didn’t last this long, right? Friend hugs also weren’t accompanied by something digging into his thigh. _Oh._

“Is that one of Jas’s markers, or are you just happy to see me?” He whispered. He couldn’t resist, big mouth making a comeuppance. He should’ve expected the way Shane tried to jerk away – but he didn’t anticipate how much this move would backfire considering the man was still trapped in his sling.

They both yelped and Shane stumbled backward, Derek driving the momentum from the front, until Shane collided into the porch railing with a grunt. The farmer couldn’t help it – he burst into laughter. He ducked down to bury his face in Shane’s shoulder to muffle the sound, though, because _they were still on Sam’s fucking porch._

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he chanted through giggles. He gently moved his right arm to help his left one over Shane to free him. But when he saw the other man’s face, he knew he’d actually _really_ fucked up. He’d never seen those cheeks redder, but he’d also never saw those eyes more _broken._ Like he’d just watched a car accident happen in front of him.

His lips moved, but the voice didn’t sound like Shane. It sounded like a hollow shell of him, a ghost that was barely there: “What are you doing with me, Derek?” The farmer’s brain stumbled in confusion and he wanted to look into those familiar green depths for clarification, but he’d _closed_ them. He’d closed himself completely off.

“Sh- wha-“ he stammered, shaking his head with his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He hated how small his voice was coming out, too. He hated that he’d ever made that comment. He hated himself.

Shane, eyes still squeezed shut like he were patiently waiting to wake up from a nightmare, took a shaky inhale before he whispered with stunning clarity: “What are we? _What is this?_ ” Oh. Was it blunt honesty time? He could do that. That part was easy.

“Well, I... I call you my friend...” Shane’s eyes squeezed tighter and Derek wondered for a bewildered moment if he were seeing stars in there. He hastily continued: “But... it doesn’t... _feel_ like that.” Wasn’t this supposed to be blunt? No ambiguous meanings? He sighed and tried again. “I-I mean... I mean that it, uh... well, to me, at least-” _Fucking Christ, where does that big ass mouth of mine go when I need it,_ he thought bitterly. Screw it. He pushed neatly stacked piles of mental poker chips to the center of his and Shane’s table. He was going all in. “It feels like something _more._ And I didn’t let myself think about it because I kept getting that _fragile_ feeling... like I would scare you away. Scare you away because... well, because I _want_ more.” Wait a minute, when had his own eyes shut?

He opened them hastily and his breath died in his lungs.

The green eyes before him were the same ones that had locked on him when he was singing in Sam’s room. Hopeful. Relieved. Almost _awestruck._ He hoped Shane had woken up from his nightmare – that this was the bliss afterwards, when you realized the terror and uncertainty had been fabricated. When you realized that you were safe, and you eventually found yourself wondering how you’d let yourself get scared in the first place.

He suddenly heard the sound of Shane’s stuttered breathing, and they were still so close that it fell across his face in a comforting, almost erotic staccato. It also made his eyes drop to those full lips, which were parted like they’d been at the dance when Shane dressed him. But that was so long ago, wasn’t it? How long had they been denying?

The glance at his mouth seemed to be all the final verification Shane needed, and he found that those lips were not only full, but _incredibly soft_ as they tenderly pressed against his own.

And his eyes closed as he sank into the sensation, kissing back firmly. A warm hand seared his left cheek as it cupped, the smallest of touches making Derek sigh into Shane’s mouth.

And the sigh opened the gateway for curious tongues that grew bolder by the second. Derek’s right hand climbed to tug the purple hair at the nape of Shane’s neck, the passion in his fingers contrasting with the anxious ones that Shane usually sank there.

And their unified mouths danced in the same unchoreographed synchrony that their bodies had done in the spring. Tonight, they did a gentle cadence of four improvised steps: open, forward, together, pull. The open was tentative, the forward rush was desperate, the close together was reassuring, and the pull was promising.

And they were out of breath, and lungs had never been more jaded.

And they broke apart but not out of each other’s space by a long shot, marveling at the reflected bruised lips in front of them.

And they were still on Sam’s porch.

“I can’t believe you compared me to a fucking marker,” Shane husked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is, the storm known as the 6-heart event. Which I just finished writing and... folks, this ride is about to get a lot more wild.


	13. I'll Follow You Into the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there. This chapter deals with some difficult repair work and it may *technically* be a bit of a filler chapter but these were things that needed to be said.

The foreboding front door of the ranch milked out any residual warmth or pleasure Derek had ignited minutes ago. After their kiss, they agreed that Shane needed to go home because this morning might have become a faint memory to _them_ but Marnie and Jas were still waiting patiently in the dark, thinking Yoba knows what.

Also, Marnie would probably have a heart attack if he _didn’t_ come home tonight. Understandably, he’d admitted begrudgingly. He knew he couldn’t just say something like that and _not_ put them on edge.

He sighed, closing his eyes and counting to five, before turning the knob and pushing into whatever difficult conversation lay ahead.

Marnie was sat at the kitchen table, dressed in her nightgown and looking into a gently steaming mug of her nighttime tea. He saw the brand-new medication bottle next to her and figured she’d just finished taking one. When she heard the door opening and closing behind Shane with tentative creaks, her eyes met his. Red. Puffy. Still wet. He gulped.

“Sit,” she said softly, nodding her head to the chair across from her. Shane felt himself panicking, suddenly unsure if he could actually do this. His fingers twitched nervously at his sides. Then, a horrible thought crossed his mind. What if she could tell? Could she tell where his lips had just been? Could she smell the cologne that definitely was not on his bathroom counter? Could she see the remnants of lust that had just been filling his pupils?

“M-Marn-“

“ _Sit down._ ” Her voice was still quiet but it was firm. No negotiations; no other options. He felt like molasses was pulling at his legs as he approached the table and sunk into his assigned seat. Her eyes searched his, unreadable. He’d never seen her like this and his heart thumped in his terrified chest. She was kicking him out, probably. Getting ready to tell him she was applying for custody of Jas and no judge in their right mind would stop her because she was stable and brilliant and owned her own _business._ And he was a suicidal alcoholic who had just shown the three people he cared about most in this pathetic world that he had a clock strapped to his chest and no intentions of defusing it.

She took a deep breath and her intimidating gaze finally dropped into her mug. “I don’t know what to do, Shane.” He nodded, numbly. Yeah, no... that was fair. Neither did he. “The drinking... is simply out of control. You do understand that, don’t you?” She glanced up to his eyes again and the usually warm brown was dim and lifeless as the tongue in his mouth. All he could do was nod again, feeling pitifully and woefully at her mercy. “Before I say my peace, you need to go into that little girl’s room first. And you need to tell her that you were lying this morning. I don’t care what you say; tell her you were tired or- _sick_ or- whatever you have to.” Shane wilted in the chair, knowing that he’d failed to protect her and now he had to lie twice as hard to her in compensation.

Because he still _did_ mean what he’d said, right? Only now he wasn’t so sure, because now everything was infinitely more complicated since Derek had crashed into his orbit and if he thought about what that meant right now, he might just sincerely lose his mind.

Another idiotic nod, his chair scraping across the floor. His left knee wobbled threateningly under him and it wasn’t even raining.

“I just sent her in her room not too long ago to wind down before bed. When you’ve finished tucking her in, I will be waiting here.” He knew by her tone that trying to escape after he talked to Jas wasn’t an option either. Plus, as much as they butted heads, she still housed him and took care of the child that he was too inept to. She didn’t deserve any of the bullshit he’d been putting on her. So he would give her what she needed. That was the least he could do.

Shane didn’t really recall walking down the hallway, but now he was in front of Jas’s door and it felt just as foreboding as the one he’d just walked through earlier. He raised his knuckles to give a series of knocks in warning before he opened it.

She was in bed already, covers pulled under her chin and facing away from him at the wall. He had lovingly watched her sleep many times, though, whether she’d done it on his chest, in his lap, on the couch, or in this bed. So he knew the rise and fall of her shoulders was anything but the peaceful rhythm of slumber.

He crossed her room, carefully stepping over various toys, and gingerly sat on the edge of her bed.

“Jas?” His voice was barely above a whisper, as he put an unsure hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from his touch, defiantly throwing the blankets all the way over her head and curling into a tighter fetal position. It did more than just break his heart – it tore it to shreds. But this wasn’t an adult who he had to avoid pity and callous disappointment from. This was a little girl who was terrified at the thought of having to mourn a third parental figure. The guilt filled his stomach with lead, and he knew now just _how_ important lying to her was.

He stood and then bent, gently shoving his arms under the child-sized lump on her bed, lifting her; blankets and all. Then he turned and sat back on her purple sheets, cradling his swaddled goddaughter. _Just like when she was a baby,_ he thought with a twinge of pain. She didn’t attempt to jerk away or squirm this time, thankfully, and he knew it was time for him to say actual words.

“Jasmine...” She always knew her full name meant it was serious-time. “I am so, _so_ sorry for what I said,” he whispered, beginning to rock back and forth almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t mean it. And I certainly didn’t mean to hurt _you._ ” The lump sniffled, and he hugged her closer. “I had a long day yesterday and I was... I was just tired, okay?” A small head of black hair shook itself from the blanket cocoon and he saw big, watery, purple eyes staring back at him. Her bottom lip was pouted out and quivering and he fought the urge to close his eyes. He had to face this, no matter how painful it was. He had to face how shitty of a person he was because both girls deserved more, and he couldn’t give them anything.

“That soda you drink makes you sick, doesn’t it?” Her voice was tiny; her words were daggers that just kept hacking away at the remains of his heart. How the hell does he respond to that? How does one explain alcoholism to a child? He wished Marnie were the one holding her; she’d know what to say. He was useless with adult conversations, much less kid ones that didn’t involve fairytale stories or make-believe tea parties. When he didn’t answer, she seemed to take it as confirmation and a tear rolled down her cheek and her lip shook more. “Why do you like it so much, then? Being sick is not fun.” The simple bluntness made Shane sigh, fumbling for words.

“Jas, one day... when... when you’re a little older-“

“ _No!_ ” she yelled, sitting up in his lap and staring at him with defiant eyes that leaked more tears. “You said I’m a _big girl_ now! I’m almost eight! I’m not a little kid!” She crossed her arms in a pout that he usually found adorable but could now only ache at. Shane sighed again, and he realized with resignation that maybe she was passing the age for lies. She was only seven, but the trauma sometimes made her seem like she had aged an extra four years. Still, he had to try his best to wrap a pile of shit in colorful gift paper.

“You are a big girl,” he reassured, giving her a small jostle to try and shake some of the petulance from her posture. “But...” He trailed off, his typical useless brain coming up empty. Still, he forced syllables past his lips. “When... you become an adult... you’ll see that sometimes things don’t... make sense.” She looked at him with confusion and he was so desperate to be done with this. “Sometimes, I make bad... choices. Or choices that might not make sense. Then, I have to apologize and... and try to do better.” Her eyes widened briefly.

“Oh! Like a... a cow... accounnabiliny from your...” She donned that adorable nose scrunch that she wore when she got frustrated at her homework. He chuckled and nodded.

“Accountability for my actions, yes. You’re brilliant, kid,” he cooed.

“U-uncle Shane?” Her brief smile at the praise dropped just as swiftly as it had come, and she looked at him with so much unguarded _fear_ that the protective feelings swelled and pummeled his every muscle. “You’re not g-gonna die, right?” He couldn’t help it anymore – he closed his eyes against prickling tears and hugged her tightly against his chest.

“No, baby girl,” he whispered into her hair. He hadn’t called her that in at least two years, having felt it was too young for a child that seemed so far beyond her years. But something innate within him told him that she didn’t _feel_ beyond her years right now. In this moment, she felt like a four-year-old again; a four-year-old that had just lost everything she’d ever known and was dropped into her father’s best friend’s arms without so much as a final goodnight kiss. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. And in that moment, he felt like he could genuinely mean it.

She began sobbing, then. He felt the front of his shirt dampen with her tears and he was rocking them again, rubbing soothing circles into her heaving back and whispering reassurances in her ear.

Eventually, her hiccups abated. Her breathing became normal, before it turned into the slow and steady rise and fall that he instantly recognized. He kissed the top of her head again as he quietly stood and laid her sleeping form on the bed, fixing the covers to tuck her in. He spotted the stuffed elephant she always slept with and nestled it against her arm, smiling as she reached to snuggle it in her sleep.

He bent down and kissed her forehead, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Promise,” he whispered one more time. When he shut her door behind him, his eyes closed and he let a singular tear mark a track down his face and steeled himself to enter yet another difficult conversation.

Marnie was still at the table, as promised. It was as if she’d never moved a muscle, really. He sat back down in his previous chair, feeling empty. Her eyes scanned his face, then dropped to the dampness Jas’s crying must have left on his shirt.

“She sleeping?” He nodded. All he could give this woman were vague head movements, apparently. She took a sip of her tea that was no longer steaming at this point, before setting it back down with a small sigh. “Look, Shane. I know your life hasn’t been easy.” Well, that was unexpected. “I know what happened with your father,” she admitted quietly. The mention of him made Shane wince and when she saw, her eyes softened... into _guilt?_ “When you were growing up, I saw how hard my brother pushed you. You know...” she tapped her fingernails on her mug as she looked back into it. “Sometimes I think he was trying to... live through you. He wasn’t... a particularly... _noticeable_ boy.” She uttered a mirthless chuckle and wiped away a stray tear. “I’m not being unkind, that was just the truth. Wasn’t at the top of his class, wasn’t good at sports or music or farming or...” She huffed, realizing she was getting off track. “My _point_ is that I saw it, Shane. What he did wasn’t right and the way he up and left after your accident was downright _deplorable._ ”

It was then that Shane realized he was crying, too. For years, he thought Marnie was blind or maybe just willfully ignorant to his relationship with his dad. He never in a million years would have guessed that all this time, she’d just been _complacent._ Therefore, he wasn’t warmed by her understanding; he was _angry._

“But if I can be honest with you, Shane,” she continued weakly. “I’m... well I’m a bit of a coward.” Her shoulders slumped and she sniffled. “I saw what was going on and I never had the gall to say anything because every time I tried to talk to him, he’d get so... mad. Said I was undermining his intelligence; said I thought he was a shit father and I didn’t care about him; said I just pitied him; said I was jealous because I couldn’t bear children of my own.” Shane’s eyebrows rose in shock when he heard her curse, and then the anger began to diminish as her words sank in. He’d never imagined what everything might have been like from her end. His father had always been sensitive, quick to anger, defensive. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, he supposed. But his father had also been demanding, never satisfied, always pushing Shane past his breaking point and then playing victim at the carnage.

He locked eyes with Marnie and began seeing his aunt in a different light. He always thought she pitied him, too. That’s what he always saw in her brown glare, wasn’t it? Disappointment, anger, pity.

“After losing your best friend, too, I... I just can’t imagine.” She took another shaky sip. “And I see how much you drink and... I can’t help but feel _responsible._ I get so... disappointed in myself. Frustrated that I didn’t try harder when you were a little boy. Then I feel just... helpless and pathetic for still being unable to step in.” She avoided his gaze, embarrassed. “And I don’t say this to make you _feel bad_ ,” she added hastily. “I say this to... to try to make you _understand._ I want to be here for you. I haven’t been able to, I know that. I haven’t been the support person you deserve-“ She cut herself off with a small sob. “A-and... and... and I just want you to know that I’m _sorry,_ Shane.”

His mouth was agape, synapses in his brain misfiring as he watched every conclusion and every assurance he’d made about what Marnie thought of him get thrown into the world’s largest bonfire. All of the emotions he saw on her face, all the painful looks she gave that made him feel like warmed-over shit on the sidewalk – they’d all been _inward,_ not outward.

“Marn, I-“ his words choked off as his Adam’s apple bobbed desperately. “I always-“ He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and cursed at himself internally. “I always feel like such a burden on you...” He hastily wiped at his cheeks with the heel of his hand, using the sensation as an attempt to ground him enough to keep going. “I can’t stand bringing you both down with me. You both deserve... so much more.” The last three words came out as a whisper. Then, her hands had darted across the table to grab his in a firm, desperate hold. She was shaking her head rapidly, crying freely.

“No, Shane, you’re _wrong._ I promise you, you are so, _so_ wrong. All I want is my nephew. And all that precious little girl wants? All she wants is a _father._ ”

“I’ll never be good enough to-“

“Damn it, you stubborn boy, _listen to me._ ” She squeezed his hands tighter and her eyes were intense with emotions she’d never thrown his way before. Desperation, certainty, _pride._ “You should see the way she looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. She will hug and cling to me and cry on my shoulder, sure. But as soon as you’re back? You’re her _world,_ Shane. Don’t you see that?” She was begging him with her eyes, begging that he try to see past his own self-doubt and realize that maybe not everyone felt what his mind told him they did. “I read her school papers, too. The writing prompts Miss Penny gives her for her journal entries. You know who she writes about when she’s not writing some little romance story about Prince Whats-his-face and Princess... Whoever?” She let out a watery chuckle. “She writes about _you._ ” Then, she sat back and pulled out a piece of folded paper from the chest pocket of her gown. She slid it across to him, with a ‘go ahead’ nod.

Tentatively, he unfolded the sheet of loose leaf paper, and saw Penny’s neat hand writing in red ink at the top:

_Prompt: This week, I would like for you to pick out one family member who makes you feel safe. Use at least five sentences to describe this person. Who are they? How are they related to you? What does feeling ‘safe’ mean, and how does your person make you feel like that?_

Below, he felt his lips curve into a soft smile as he recognized his goddaughter’s big, uncoordinated letters. She had a few spelling and grammar mistakes, but as his eyes soaked in her words, he wouldn’t have traded them for anything in the whole fucking world.

_My family member is unkle Shane. I call him that becase he says too but i secritly call him dad in my head where he cannot hear. Being safe ~~meens~~ means that you do not feel scared and no thing can hurt you not even monsters. Dad makes me be safe when he caries me or hugs me. He some times let’s me sleep on him when i am reelly tired. Also when i have a nite mare. Even when aunt Marnie says he is felling sick he hugs me and then i use my pink ~~sth~~ ~~stefo~~ ~~thetho~~ sethoscope too lissen to his heart and i say it is normel but i actualy dont hear any thing but do not tattle! i hope he fells better but i no he loves me becase he says so and i love my dad to. _

_Jasmine Garland_

His hand was shaking as it held the paper. So many emotions warred inside his head that he couldn’t begin to list them all off. Marnie reached over and slid the sheet from his grasp.

“You’re getting it wet, dear,” she chided gently. He realized he’d been silently crying again, and he looked at her to see a deep love swimming in those soft, brown eyes. The shreds of his heart began to stitch themselves back together, fitting in a permanently altered way that only damage and repair could cause. He felt like the new organ in his chest could be _stronger_ this time. Because now it wasn’t alcohol and loneliness and a garish _hopelessness_ that had sewn him back together. It had been compassion, epiphanies, and even a bud of _love_ to boot. Maybe, maybe, _maybe_ he could finally defuse his bomb.

When Marnie stood, he did, too. She seldom hugged him – perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of that guilt she’d admitted to shouldering – but now she did. Now, she flung her arms around his shoulders and held onto her nephew with everything she had. His arms squeezed right back while she sobbed, just like Jas had earlier. He hated how much he was making his favorite people cry.

Just as he was beginning to think she was going to crush the breath out of his lungs, she loosened and stepped back to hold him at arms’ length, looking him up and down like a proud mother. Then she put her hands on his stubbly cheeks and pulled his head down to give him an affectionate peck on the forehead. Just as he’d done for Jas.

“I love you, Shane,” she whispered with a fierce intensity. “And don’t you go forgetting it, you hear?”

He nodded but it was no longer such a numb gesture. It was simple, promising. “Love you, too, Marn.”

In this moment, his new heart told him with confidence that he could uphold all of his promises.

He could uphold all of his promises because he had everything to live for now, right? His alluring friend was _more_ than just his friend. His goddaughter desperately needed him in her life and couldn’t bear not feeling his hold or tucking her in as many nights as he could. His aunt bared her soul to him and showed him all of the signals he’d read wrong and then told him with her eyes and her words just how much she _loved_ him.

He told himself that all of these things were an impenetrable shield; a safeguard against the rot in his brain.

He could uphold all of his promises because no amount of dark and unwelcome thoughts could ever erase the words he heard tonight, the gazes he saw, the confessions he bore witness to.

As he stepped into his dark bedroom, he stripped to his boxers. He looked down at his protruding stomach, his softening chest, his pale skin, his smattering of dark and unsightly chest hair. A sickening blue lay at his feet with a smirking contempt: His JojaMart uniform.

He could uphold all of his promises, he convinced himself as he slid under his covers and tried to ignore the internal ticking sound that hadn’t left his ears. 

Because he had _everything_ to live for... everything except himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one of the roughest parts about writing a depressed character is you want so badly for the fix to be quick - for one conglomeration of good things to be the Final Showdown. Unfortunately, that's just not reality and therefore it is not Shane's reality.


	14. Perhaps We're Both Attention Starved*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter starts off with a lil NSFW: Solo Mission to conclude the Longest Sunday(tm)
> 
> And what better way to follow up with the Longest Chapter I've ever written in my goddamn life? This one's 5.6k words, friends!

Shane lay on his bed in just his boxers, looking up at the dark ceiling and willing his mind to stop whirling with so many thoughts. He just wanted to go to sleep, damn it. It had been the longest day he felt like he’d ever had. It started with him trying to drink himself into a coma and ended with the metronome of seconds withering away. Despite the heaping piles of _good_ and even _closure,_ his own brain haunted him.

He begged to the ceiling for help. If not an empty mind, at least one that was filled with better thoughts, warmer words, _anything_ to drown out the sound.

That, it seemed, the ceiling could deliver on. His brain eagerly drifted back to Sam’s porch. Derek slowly sauntering over to him, saying things made Shane feel like he _mattered,_ because the farmer was so _good_ at that. He’d also realized tonight that the farmer was good at a lot of other things, too.

Shane didn’t catch how his breathing grew shallower while he recalled how the initial hug on that porch felt. He’d been surprised but happy, if not disbelieving. But then Derek had done that _weirdly erotic_ maneuver where he’d forced Shane to be physically tied to his space. He felt his chest warm as he remembered how he’d felt Derek’s toned body flush against his own. The heat that nuzzled into him. The hips that slotted against his.

When it had happened in that moment, Shane’s first pang of arousal tightened his jeans and he’d tried his best to will it away – not wanting to disgust his friend.

 _‘It feels_ _like something_ more _.’_

But then they still hadn’t pulled away, and with a second pang going straight to his groin, he’d known there was no way the farmer couldn’t _feel_ what his vile body was doing. And he’d been so mortified, about to speak up, when Derek had slipped in with that fucking quip. He remembered the embarrassment, shame, and hurt all too well – but what had really been eating him up was how Derek’s comment had made him feel like it was _okay_ to get a boner for the farmer, when it most certainly was _not._ Because Shane was Shane and Derek was everything.

Derek would kick his ass if he could hear his thoughts right now.

But then the red-head – who was light-years out of Shane’s realm of possibility – was hurtling himself into his orbit, confessing with stutters and blushes and nervous words that somehow Shane’s feelings weren’t unrequited.

Then they’d _kissed._

The pang of arousal Shane felt wasn’t in a memory this time. Because now his mind kept flicking back and forth to feeling the farmer’s crotch against his, and the warm tongue that had slid into his mouth. Shane had barely known what to do with his own hands; he’d only known they sought heat and fabric that wasn’t his own.

His ragged breathing finally reached his ears and his eyes darted down in the dark bedroom. His sight had adjusted just enough to see, as well as feel, how hard he was getting in his boxers. Slowly pitching a tent, knocking on the front flap like a thin door.

But this wasn’t _right,_ he argued. Just because Derek had held him, pressed into him, and _kissed_ him didn’t mean Shane was free to think these things about him while his dick pulsed in his underwear. Not only was it morally reprehensible; it was plain _disrespectful._

But then his mind teased him again with the memory of Derek’s fingers tugging at the sensitive hair behind his neck as he’d bitten Shane’s bottom lip, and it seemed lust didn’t give two shits about what his self-esteem thought about the matter, as he felt his hips slightly raise off his mattress of their own accord, cock twitching. He knew there was definitely a wet spot by now and he groaned in frustration.

 _Fuck it,_ he snapped, as the monkey part of his brain flicked on and he hastily tugged his boxers off. It was either this or the clock, and the clock could go fuck itself, too.

His freed erection stood straight up and Shane’s embarrassment was short-lived as soon as he wrapped his hand around it. The way his stomach muscles shivered immediately made him think of those damned knots again; but this was way different. This was more like a hot coil of pleasure that wiped his brain like a corrupted hard drive.

He closed his eyes and convinced himself that no one ever had to know.

He stroked himself slowly at first, letting his mind play images and sensations on a loop. The best part was those were the _only_ things allowed through his mind at the moment.

_Soft lips, strong body, warm breath, snaking tongue, Derek’s thigh against his growing length._

Shane’s movements became faster, and his free hand dipped down to cup his balls as he felt memory-Derek sighing into his mouth.

He wondered what Derek would sound like moaning.

That was all he needed for the coil in his lower belly to release. He snatched his hand from his sac to bite down on his knuckles, muffling his involuntary moan. His hips rolled, bucking violently into his own fist as he came onto his heaving chest.

“ _Fuck,_ ” his hoarse whisper filled the empty room. He needed several tissues to clean himself and as he pulled his boxers back over his satisfied libido, he turned onto his side and tried to sleep away the guilt.

**Derek**

The first half of summer’s debut week was, quite literally and metaphorically, hell on earth. He worked even harder than he had on the last day of spring, having to train himself how to hoe the ground with one arm. He’d given himself way too many bruises and blisters. He’d also forgotten to ask Shane to help him out, and now... he was afraid to.

Some part of him knew just how ridiculous he was being. That Shane wouldn’t think he were being clingy, that the man wouldn’t get tired of him if they spent more time together. But that was a part of his brain that just couldn’t confirm a damn thing, now could it? It argued back with the awe in Shane’s eyes, the vulnerable questions, the hug, the kiss, the alarming sensation of Shane’s-

Okay, no. It was hot enough under this fucking sun and he didn’t need any extra heat adding to that.

It was Thursday but, more importantly, it was Jas’s birthday. He was forever in debt to the little calendar beside Pierre’s store. Yesterday, he had called Marnie (a sheet of laminated paper beside his house phone had every business’s number listed) and asked when he could stop by to deliver her gift. She was more than delighted, going as far as to invite him to her birthday party.

Which – he snuck a look at his phone – was in about two hours. He counted estimates of time meticulously in his head, deducing that he had about an hour and fifteen minutes left to dedicate to his farm before it was time to get ready. After the invitation yesterday, he’d gone to the Zuzu Mall with Abigail (Sam had been working and Sebastian was still being a grump) and smiled at her as she dragged him into all different kinds of stores.

Then, he’d stopped into one of those make-your-own-plush places and picked out a unicorn to get stuffed. There was also clothing he could buy for it, so he added on some girly looking clothing and purchased a gift box for it, as well.

Thankfully, he’d planted the last of his corn just in time. He also planted every summer crop he needed for the Community Center, plus what appeared to be one of summer’s more profitable produce choices – blueberries.

Satisfied and feeling very deserving to taking the rest of the day off, he dashed inside to shower, dress, and wrap Jas’s gift.

He wondered if Marnie had told Shane he was coming, yet.

He also wondered how Shane was doing. Imagining the discussions his friend had to have gone through Sunday made him cringe with concern. _Friend?_ he wondered. It was evident they both wanted more than that, surely. But with summer slamming on the town, there simply hadn’t been a time for The Feelings talk.

As he walked to the ranch, he started tapping his fingers anxiously against the box in his right arm. Surely, Shane wouldn’t think the farmer had been avoiding him, right? Of course, he would understand how demanding farming was – especially at the tail-end and the beginning of seasons. Right?

 _Yoba, shut the hell up. Today’s about Jas, not you._ He gave a steadying breath, stepping up to the ranch door. He set the box down and gave a series of gentle knocks, picking the gift back up. He lamented his broken arm more and more each day.

The door opened and all of the tension that had been building on him melted away as he was greeted by a smiling Shane who had a beaming little girl atop his shoulders.

Said girl then squealed and pointed to what Derek was holding.

“Is that for _me_?!” She cried, suddenly trying to worm off her godfather’s shoulders to get a closer look.

“Sure is!” Derek chuckled. “Happy birthday, Jas.” She shimmied even harder, her left leg dangerously close to slipping.

“Easy, kid!” Shane yelped, catching her before she sent herself flying. He set her down and ruffled her hair in revenge, which earned his arm a playful swat. She ran up to the farmer and stopped short, as if she’d suddenly remembered she was meant to have manners.

“Can I open it?” She pleaded with bright, hopeful eyes that reminded him of Abigail’s hair. With absolutely no way he could ever say no to _that,_ he opened his mouth to acquiesce, when Shane grabbed her around the middle and hauled her back from the door. She giggled and kicked in his arms, and it was all so adorable that Derek grinned stupidly, still outside.

“Have some patience, little lady. Gift opening comes after cake, you know the drill.” He turned to Derek and jerked his head in a come-on-in gesture. He obliged, stepping past the threshold and taking a look around.

They sure could decorate, he realized. Pink and purple streamers hung from the ceiling and created a curtain between the shop area and the kitchen. There were also matching balloons tied in bundles and weighed down to the floor. The front desk was strung with chains of paper decorations of cartoon princesses. He wondered what the kitchen looked like.

“C’mon, I’ll show you where we’ve been putting her gifts,” Shane said as he headed through the streamer curtain. Guess Derek wouldn’t have to wonder for long. As he passed through behind him and Jas, he saw a large Happy Birthday banner stretched across one wall, curly plastic streamers joining the normal ones, and the dining table was given a decorative table cloth with tiny pieces of confetti sprinkled all over it.

It was truly a heart-warming sight. He remembered the birthday parties his parents used to throw for him when he was a kid, and he felt a strange sort of honor to be able to be here for Jas – where birthday traditions could continue and she could still make good memories. He saw a smaller table stacked with an assortment of wrapped gifts. As he deposited his, he saw some of the gifts were from people that didn’t live on the ranch.

“Marnie left with the other guests to go to the park, where Jas’s party will be held for the most part. Then we’ll all come back here for cake and sh-“ He caught himself. “Cake and stuff. She had Jas and I wait for you to get here while they set up.” He gave the red-head a lopsided smile and Derek thought he’d never seen the man so happy. He had to wonder how well Sunday night had gone – surely it had been at least decent if he was this chipper.

Or maybe his goddaughter’s joy was as infectious on him as it was on Derek.

“Sounds good!” He chirped, grinning back. “So are we set to go, then?” Shane turned to Jas and squatted to her level.

“What d’ya say, squirt? Ready to go have fun?” She nodded eagerly and, when he stood, reached up and made grabby hands at him. He rolled his eyes at her playfully and hoisted her up, with an exaggerated grunt, to rest on his hip. “You’re getting to be too big to carry, you know that?”

“No. I don’t think so,” she declared matter-of-factly. Derek laughed at that one and he caught Shane’s teasing glare not to encourage her.

The walk to the park would have been enjoyable, had it not been for the goddamn _heat._ Once in the town square, Shane had to put Jas down. But he quickly stifled a protest by grabbing her hand affectionately.

Then, she turned her head to look at Derek and held her other hand out for him. Oh, man, he really loved this kid. He grabbed her hand and looked up to see a look of utter contentment on Shane’s face and he idly thought that this one moment could plaster itself in his brain forever and he still wouldn’t get sick of it.

When they got to the park, Jas dropped their hands and dashed off to meet Vincent, who had also spotted her from a mile away. They embraced and then ran off with delighted giggles. Both men watched them run off, and Derek took a quick inventory of his surroundings.

Marnie and Jodi sat on the park benches, wearing sunhats and smiling as they talked. He also spotted Sam and Penny under the tree next to the Community Center, a bit too close for Derek’s brain not to waggle its eyebrows in piqued curiosity.

“So, uh... how’s the farm?” Derek turned to Shane, who hadn’t necessarily _lost_ any of the joy from before, but certainly seemed exponentially more shy. Too much for him to have not been holding it back during the walk up. The red-head couldn’t deny he was incredibly anxious around him, too, though. He was still wondering when The Feelings talk would happen, and he didn’t know whether to dread it or chase it.

“Oh, you know...” He flapped his hand nonchalantly. “Busy as hell. Learning how to till the soil with one arm has been... interesting, to say the least. I mean- of course, I had to do it spring but... summer has me buying a _lot_ of crops.” He awkwardly realized he was rambling – an anxious quirk of his that popped up at times – and forced himself to drop there.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Shane tilted his head. “I woulda helped out, you know.” Derek rubbed the back of his neck nervously, chuckling.

“You already have a job, dude. Can’t ask that of you.” Shane gently grabbed the farmer’s elbow, sliding down his forearm and twining their hands together, giving a small squeeze.

“Don’t worry about that. I like farm work. Told you that shit’s a million times better than Joja.” Derek felt himself blushing as his eyes instinctively darted down to their connected hands. Since when was this man bold by any means? Shane glanced, too, and suddenly dropped from the grasp, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Derek didn’t know what the hell they were but he _did_ know that the other man most likely wouldn’t be keen on public affection yet.

“Do you... wanna go somewhere more private?” Then, Derek shook his head, realizing his words had an unintended double meaning. “No- I mean- not like _that_ \- I meant... um, just like... not in the middle of the park?” Now they were both blushing, and this almost felt as exposing as holding hands. Shane’s hand scrubbed at the nape of his neck and it was the first time Derek realized they shared an identical anxious tick. It was a common one, sure, but his heart didn’t care to acknowledge that detail.

“Y-yeah, sure. Let’s...” Shane trailed off, pointing with a finger over to an area to the left where the corner of the clearing was lined with bushes. Before they could get much farther, though:

“Oh, there they are! Derek! Shane!” They both looked over to see Marnie waving them down. Sam and Penny had looked up, too, and Derek took a brief second to stare at Sam before he made a pointed glance at Penny and winked at the blonde. Sam narrowed his eyes at him playfully. This was the kind of friendship the farmer had always craved – talking without words. Effortless communication.

The two men ambled over to Marnie and Jodi, and the former stood to hug them both. The red-head wrapped his arm tight around the stout woman.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he said with a shy smile.

She teasingly slapped his good arm, chuckling. “Oh, hush. Thank _you_ for joining us.” Then, she turned to Shane and Derek fought to hide his shock when they embraced whole-heartedly. Okay, maybe Sunday had gone _really_ well, he mused. “Jas find Vincent?” Shane nodded and they shared a knowing smile. What there was to know, Derek hadn’t a clue.

Jodi stood up, too. She gave the farmer her usual warm mom-hug, before awkwardly shaking Shane’s hand. Jodi was sweet, but she seemed like an avid participant in the town’s rumor mill – if her interactions with the purple-haired man gave any indication. He wondered what the woman would do if she knew even half of Shane’s situation. Maybe she’d just continue to spread it like liquid butter over the rest of the town.

He didn’t enjoy the bitterness that was starting to creep up on him. He also didn’t enjoy that he hadn’t been watching his face, when Marnie gave him a quizzical look.

“Everything okay, dear?”

Derek lied with too much ease. “Yeah, sorry! Been working nonstop since summer and guess my brain hasn’t quite switched gears just yet.” Marnie clicked her tongue sympathetically at him and gave his arm a quick rub.

“Now don’t you over work yourself, young man. ‘Specially not with that arm of yours. I’m sure Shane would be more than happy to lend a hand.” Shane put on a smug grin before he turned to Derek.

“Funny, I was just tellin’ him the same thing,” the man mused. Derek chuckled and gave them a good-natured eye roll.

“Okay, okay, all right,” he conceded, trying to hide his eagerness. In truth, it would be a fucking blessing to have some help, if his quickly depleting supply of painkillers had anything to say about it. “Weekends work for you?” Shane shook his head, giving him a _‘don’t be stupid’_ look.

“Monday through Friday,” he fired back. “After work.”

“What? No! Then, _you’ll_ be over working yourself.”

“ _Relax,_ Red. Told you a thousand times that I like workin’ on a farm.” The nickname made him blush furiously, the same shade of Shane’s face when the man realized he’d said it. He could fucking get used to that, yes sirree.

“If you insist. But I _will_ pay you and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it,” he snarked. Shane opened his mouth to protest but Marnie piped up.

“Oh, wonderful! You two already seem to get along really well.” Derek’s mouth opened and closed, and he swore Shane’s face went a shade redder. Thankfully, they were interrupted by a call:

“ _Mommy!_ ”

All four heads whipped around to see Vincent next to Jas, pointing to the ground. “Come look at this _bug!_ ” Jas was severely less interested, scrunching her nose down at where he pointed in undisguised disgust.

Jodi let out a patient huff and rolled her eyes with a small, affection smile. “ _Boys,_ ” she muttered to Marnie. The other woman giggled and they watched her leave. Then, a pair of brown inquisitive eyes flicked between them again, and anyone with half a brain could sense what was coming next.

“So...” she began with a coy smile. “That spring dance was somethin’, huh?” Shane groaned and rubbed a hand down his face in exasperation. “Oh, pipe down. I’m just teasin’. What am I to do in this itty bitty town if I can’t have some fun?” she winked with a laugh. Derek raised an eyebrow, then, because two could play at that game.

“How’re you and Lewis?” This time, Shane choked, shooting him a panicked look. Marnie’s face fell instantly, and she whipped her head around like she’d just learned someone had put a bounty on her. “Oh, sh- crap. Crap, sorry! I didn’t- I-“ he stammered, waving his right hand back and forth in his signature backpedal gesture. She sighed and gave him a weak smile.

“No, no, dear. It’s not you... just... well, Lewis is very... anxious when it comes to his... ah-“ She paused, biting back some emotion that Derek could just _barely_ place as hurt. “His public image... so we are holding off on being... open about us... for now.” He chanced a glance at Shane and saw his face had darkened – a stark cloud against the sun of the season. _Oh, shit,_ he realized. _This goes... deeper than I thought._ His heart broke a little for the woman right then, but he nodded obediently and made a zipping motion over his mouth, with earned him another pained grin. Then she sighed, forcing her composure to switch back to happy-go-lucky rancher. His heart broke even more. “Well! You two go have fun. Not sure how much longer we’ll all be able to be out here- what, with this heat _._ ” She fanned her face dramatically to sell the subject change.

Derek put his hand on her shoulder and gave her an intense, meaningful stare that the usually confident woman seemed to fidget under – as if she knew what he was saying with his eyes. “Take care of yourself, Marnie. Let’s give Jas a day to remember, hm?” The words had a double purpose of acknowledging the hurt he’d seen while also being inconspicuous enough to be flippant. She nodded, giving him a soft smile and he relaxed when it finally reached her eyes.

Shane and Derek turned toward the corner they’d decided on earlier and sat down against the wall of the bushes that faced the park and the Center. They sat too far apart for Derek’s liking but he wasn’t about to push any boundaries. Plus, Shane was still obviously seething, the heat of it making Derek’s already light sheen of sweat from the weather become slowly unbearable.

“It’s _fucked,_ ” the man hissed. The farmer could only sigh heavily and nod, the weight of the situation seeming to fully land on him. He figured maybe a topic change might help.

“At least it seemed like your talk with her on Sunday went well? How was Sunday night?” For some reason, Shane began blushing furiously and he shook his head briskly before gathering himself. Odd, but okay.

“U-uh, yeah. Sunday went great- good. It was good. Nice.” Derek bit his lip hard to avoid outright laughing at the sudden weird change in demeanor. Was he flustered over their kiss? Not that the farmer had room to talk in that department. Shane’s eyes flicked to him before diving to the ground, where he began idly picking at grass. “Jas said, uh... well, she asked...” He plucked the green blades harder, as if they were words he could use. “She asked a lot of difficult questions.”

“Kids have no filter,” Derek agreed with a nod. Shane scoffed in amusement.

“No shit. But I... promised her I’d do better, you know? Sucked havin’ to lie about a lot of things... ‘specially ‘cause she was just so confused.” Shane’s brow furrowed, troubled. “But it’s for the best.” Then he hastily added: “Wasn’t lying ‘bout the promise, though.”

“Doesn’t just... go away, though, does it?” Shane finally stopped looking at the grass when the farmer said that, and there was so much relief in those eyes that Derek _really_ couldn’t bear the distance now. Still, no pushing boundaries.

“Yeah...” the other man breathed. “Yeah, even when Marnie and I made up. You know, she confessed a shit ton of things that I never knew. Like how she saw my dad treat me as a kid... and how he treated me after my gridball injury-“

“You played gridball?!” Derek couldn’t help but interrupt, mouth open in shock. Shane gave him a tight-lipped smile – it was obviously a massive sore spot for him. The farmer hastily picked his jaw off the ground and found himself rambling. “S-sorry, I just- I mean it explains a _lot_ , you know? You have the reflexes of a fuckin’ cat. Plus, I mean- you don’t get those arms from just stockin’ at Joja,” he finished with an awkward laugh that turned into a frustrated blush. Could his mouth _please_ quit gushing at Shane’s physique for one damned minute?

The other man looked more bashful than anything, color rushing into his face, too. “U-uh, yeah. Well... I played a lot back in the day. Was gonna go big, too... I mean- I wasn’t the _best,_ but I-“

“Is it okay if I ask what happened?” Derek cut off his awkward, humble attempt at covering the fact that Shane had likely been _very_ good at gridball. He watched the man bite his lip nervously and tried to refocus on the conversation and not that _mouth._

“Uh, w-well...” Shane sighed and shifted, seemingly trying to get more comfortable. He fiddled with the grass he plucked with hands that he drew into the lap of his crossed legs. “It was my senior year of high school. Biggest year. All of your most important games. Scouts came from fuckin’ everywhere just to look at you. ‘Specially if you were already earning yourself a name.” His large and gentle hands had begun ripping the blades to shreds. Derek contemplated reassuring him he didn’t have to continue but he instantly shoved that notion out the window. If he didn’t want to share, he wouldn’t have. Stopping him now would only be hurtful. Like emotional blue-balling.

Shane cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing: “Anyway, it was a big game for me. Coach told me _five_ scouts were gonna have eyes on me. Max I’d ever heard of at one time was, like, three.” Derek’s suspicions were confirmed. The man had been a god, no doubt. “So, ‘course I’m nervous as shit, but coach just tells me to keep my head on straight and play like there’s no one in the stands.” Shane gave a small scoff. “Yeah, fat fuckin’ chance. ‘Specially when one of those people is my old man, who looks even more nervous than _me._ ”

The grass was essentially powder by now, so the farmer watched him pluck more and continue his uncomfortable fidgeting. The silence stretched for what seemed like ages. Shane’s face was hardened and unreadable, seeming like his brain had stopped willingly connecting to his mouth. Derek understood that all too well, so he patiently waited, staring at those hands. “He always used to say shit to me like... ‘You gotta knock their socks off, son. You’re number one or you’re done, that’s just how it works. Go out there and make me proud, huh?’” Then the murdered grass was abandoned as he shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes.

 _Christ,_ Derek thought with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. _What kind of father_ says _that?_

He wondered if he would’ve preferred his dad alive but shitty, as opposed to dead but loving. He winced and was glad Shane’s eyes were being covered so the man wouldn’t see Derek losing himself in his own head again. Finally Shane tore his hands from his eye sockets and buried his fists into his lap.

“So- yeah, no. I was scared shitless that day.” _No doubt,_ Derek muttered internally. He hated Shane’s father already and he didn’t even know the man’s name. “But I got on the field and”—he snapped his fingers lazily—“just like that, nothing mattered except the game. Sometimes, I miss that feeling the most out of everything else. Even more than how fit I used to be,” he grumbled, looking pointedly at his stomach. The farmer was going to destroy that self-consciousness with his bare hands. Now wasn’t the time to harp on it, though. “It was like having tunnel-vision. Nothing mattered but you, the ball, and the other players. Didn’t even look at the scoreboard at all most times. Whatever, I’m-“ he waved his hand in frustration. “Getting off track, sorry.” Derek _really_ wanted to speak up, but was afraid of ruining the moment, so he just lashed his head back and forth. Seemed to get the message across as Shane’s lips parted to continue.

“The first half was really good. I’d gotten-“ Then he cut himself off, again. “Well, whatever. Stats don’t matter anymore. Point is, it was _good._ The nerves had pretty much fucked off by then.” Derek watched those fists open and close methodically, an anger beginning to show signs of boiling. “Then, we were lined up in the third quarter. When the ball was put in play, I ran up field like I’d always done...” Shane’s fingernails were digging into his palms and the red-head ached to relieve that pressure. “Was a good call, too. Ball thrown right to me. Was runnin’ forward, not looking. ‘Cause you’re not supposed to take your eyes off the ball, you know?” His voice was getting tight. “Suddenly my knee collides with something _hard_ and”—he grunted and rubbed his knee, as if the memory were causing the pain to act up again—“couldn’t even _breathe_ for, like... a solid minute. Turns out some defense prick had been targeting me for ages.”

He gave Derek a look that was equal parts intense as it was solemn. “Foul plays, especially _intentional_ foul plays will get you cut in a second. He’d charged at me like a fuckin’ bull... shattered my whole damn kneecap with his helmet.” The man hissed and winced again, opting to stretch his left leg out and massage it. “Took himself out, but bastard took me with him.”

Suddenly, Derek understood the limp. The defensiveness around the subject. The way Shane never mentioned his parents. He couldn’t keep quiet anymore. “Fucker deserved more than a ban,” he grumbled, surprised at the level of rage that had transferred into his voice. “Shoulda been charged with assault.” Shane just grimaced, resignation and pain etched into his brow.

“Worst part was the recovery. Too many surgeries, too much physical therapy that was eventually too expensive to keep going to. No hope of playing again.” Derek’s heart twisted agonizingly in his chest, his face adopting the hurt he saw on Shane’s. He hated the miles of ground between them and he couldn’t take it anymore. He internally apologized to future-Derek if this backfired, but he quietly shifted over until his right knee was grazing Shane’s left thigh. The other man flinched, and his heart made another panicked twist.

But then, he felt him relax, and the touch was accepted, seeming to take it as an assurance that Derek was here and he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. He held back a relieved breath when Shane continued: “It had happened in the middle of the school year. They sent me my work at the hospital and I finished out twelfth grade learning how to walk with my left leg again.” He twitched his outstretched left foot, as if making sure it could, indeed, move still. “But even worse was my dad wouldn’t fuckin’ _look_ at me. He was at the hospital with me for... maybe, like, the first two surgeries? But once the doctors broke the news that I’d never play again... _Fuck_ -” The heels of his hands were back against his eyes, but the tears still leaked past.

Derek was still contemplating whether he should risk another touch – because it was so _hard_ to watch the man break down in front of him without using that sling trick again and just letting him _let go_ – when Shane rubbed his face up and down rapidly, scrubbing at it and ruffling his fringe.

“Then he wouldn’t even come to the hospital. Or help out with the bills. Or let me stay after graduation... I was still using a _cane._ ” Derek seethed, and he understood those fists of rage Shane had been making earlier because now his right hand was mimicking it, and he ached to drive it into Shane’s faceless and nameless shit excuse of a father. A harsh scoff tore Derek from his reddened vision. “So, yeah... I played gridball.”

Consequences be damned, Derek didn’t allow himself a second thought before leaning forward and reaching his arm out to place his hand over the injured knee. It was summer, so skin met skin and he felt Shane jerk in surprise and tense up; but he held steady and used his thumb to rub soothing circles over it. The circles slowly increased in pressure until he was basically massaging the joints.

You know, how friends do.

Shane had stopped stiffening by now, and Derek swore he even heard a small sigh. Derek didn’t know what was going on in the man’s head right now. He didn’t know what to say, either.

What he _did_ know, though, was that he was really getting sick and tired of just being his friend.


	15. Fear is the Heart of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Silly boys don't realize that elapsed time only leaves room for doubt to grow.  
> And then an unanticipated development fertilizes the soil where the doubt sprouts - a perfect storm is brewing.

It was the Saturday after Jas’s party, and Derek was strolling into town to attend his check-up appointment with Harvey. It’d now been three whole weeks since he’d entered arm prison, and he desperately hoped for good news.

The rest of the girl’s birthday party had gone well enough, even with Shane’s heavy story lingering between them like a weighted blanket. But while both men may be shitty at fooling each other, they sure knew how to convince others, as they’d plastered on smiles that didn’t quite meet their eyes. Though, Derek’s had for a brief moment when Jas opened his gift and shrieked in excitement, announcing on the spot that her new unicorn was to be referred to as ‘Stella’.

Before he’d left, Derek had told Shane that he should start Monday and not the next day, because Friday was going to be dedicated to babying his arm in preparation for Harvey. He’d been met with reluctance and a maybe-not-so-playful threat against his good arm if he was caught working on the farm at all.

It made his heart pull again, but he’d ignored it and walked home in a cold shroud of loneliness.

Friday, he’d kept to his word of no-duty until it was weekly saloon time with the band. Sebastian finally apologized but he was still grumbly and there were words left unsaid that had made Derek fidget all night. Abigail had also worriedly confessed to the farmer that he’d been smoking more lately.

He shook all those thoughts from his head, though, forcing himself to focus on his destination. When he finally entered the clinic – no longer winded from the treks between the farm and the town, thankfully – he tried settling his nerves with a deep breath. Maru was at the counter this time, smiling cheerfully at him as he came in.

“Hey, there! Here for that follow up?” she confirmed politely. He didn’t understand why Sebastian held so much contempt for her, she seemed very kind and intelligent. Then again, he supposed if he only made judgments on people based on first or second – or even third, really - impressions, he wouldn’t be in love with his best friend, now would he?

His brain backfired.

That thought didn’t happen.

He nodded at the nurse, distracted, and she pointed down the hall. “Go on in to the open room. Doctor Harvey will be with you momentarily.”

He complied, moseying in through the only unlocked door and hoisting himself onto the end of an exam table. He swung his legs – it was hiked up high, okay? – and looked at the neutral paintings that decorated the room. As he waited, he pulled out his phone. Another thing he’d done on Friday was give Shane his number. It had made his stomach erupt with butterflies but it was also practical if Shane were going to be working on the farm. He was delighted to see a text from the custom contact name.

**9:57AM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
sorry to text for non work purposes but Marnie told me to invite you over this evening for dinner  
  
but you don’t have to  
  
not that I don’t want you to  
  
ugh shit  
  
**9:58AM**  
look just come at 5 if you want to  
  
sorry for blowing up your phone  


Derek giggled – yes, _giggled_ – as he imagined Shane’s flustered face behind his phone as he sent what could only be described as text-vomit. He was so pathetically enamored by this man and it was wearing him thin. Maybe they could finally address it after dinner tonight. Well, didn’t _that_ sound like a come on.

**10:04AM**  
**Derek**  
If I only wanted to hear from you about work, I woulda given you the house number. Tell Marnie I’ll be there  


He bit his lip in frustration. It didn’t say enough; not everything he really _wanted_ to say. Then again, most of the things he wanted to say had to be done face-to-face. He hastily typed out a final text.

**10:04AM**  
**Derek**  
Also, I like seeing you ‘blow up my phone’. Do it more often  


His head snapped up from his phone as the door opened and in walked Harvey, rubbing his hands together and bringing with him the sharp scent of alcohol-based hand sanitizer. The doctor smiled at him and Derek found that, while it was still an adorable one, it didn’t attract him like it originally had. Not since green eyes had imprinted themselves on his heart. _Oh, Yoba, I’m turning into a sap,_ he groaned in his head.

“Good morning, Derek! How’re we feeling?” Harvey sat on a rolling stool and wheeled over to him, sticking out his foot to press on a pedal that lowered the exam table to his level.

“It’s actually been fine, really. Stopped having to take the painkillers over a week ago, and it doesn’t give me much issue at all. Thought it woulda been more of a bitch but, honestly, the shittiest part has been the cast and sling,” he mumbled bitterly. The doctor chuckled in amusement and shrug his eyebrows.

“Yes, well, the healing process is never convenient. However, it is a very good sign that your pain has seemed to abate so quickly. Let’s get started, shall we?”

* * *

After more x-rays, Harvey promised to return shortly and left to go read the scans. Derek pulled out his phone again and accepted the wide grin that split his stupid face when he had a new text.

**10:08AM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
anyone ever tell you you’re a freakin weirdo?  
  
**10:09AM**  
  
i only half meant that  
  
hard to smirk over text  


Derek snorted, then he was fucking giggling again.

**10:32AM**  
**Derek**  
Don’t worry, I can picture it.  


He clicked his phone off, not expecting a text back for a bit since he’d stepped back from the conversation for a while due to the x-rays. But he stood – or sat, rather – corrected when his phone buzzed again. Then again, Shane was off work. But it still brought an annoying amount of giddiness to his demeanor.

**10:33AM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
yeesh sorry you gotta see my ugly mug when I’m not even there  
  
how’s the appt going?  
  
**10:34AM**  
**Derek**  
I will quite literally beat the shit out of you if you keep on with those comments  
  
It’s fine so far, doc just took pictures of my pretty, broken bones. Thrilling, really  
  
**10:34AM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
guess you’ll have to beat the shit out of me then, Red  
  
**10:35AM**  
**Derek**  
Oh? You into that?  


Shit, shit, shit. Oh, he wanted to unsend that so bad. He clicked his phone off again, too anxious to see the reply that would likely be Shane telling him that he’d made it weird, followed by an immediate drop of the conversation and a very awkward dinner at the ranch later.

His phone buzzed and his resolve lasted all of two seconds. He was pitiful, truly.

**10:35AM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
wouldn’t you like to know  


When Harvey came back in, he stuffed his phone in his pocket like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His cheeks burned but Harvey, ever the professional, pretended he didn’t see. _He’s gonna think I was watching porn or something,_ he groaned.

“Derek, I have some really good news for you,” he smiled. “Looks like due to your upkeep of your arm and what is possibly the fastest progressing bone regeneration I’ve seen yet, we can safely shave a week off your recovery time. This means I’ll be taking that cast off today and you will finish the remaining two weeks in a more simplistic brace. The brace is more of a... modified sling.” Derek’s face lit up at the news.

“Holy shit! Awesome! Can we take it off now? Like, _now_ now?!” Harvey chuckled and nodded and pulled out an instrument that made Derek’s face pale. The doctor caught his expression and smiled apologetically.

“It’s an intimidating tool but I promise it is one hundred percent painless.” He wheeled a metal table over to Derek, before using that pedal to raise the exam table so that the farmer’s arm could hang in its usual position but with the table nestled underneath it. “I will remind you, though, that your arm has been in this cast for three weeks now. This means the skin underneath may look very dry or flaky, and oftentimes there is... well, an odor. Just wanted to give you a heads up in advance to spare you any embarrassment. Again, I’ve done this hundreds of times. Rest assured.” Derek nodded nervously and watched as Harvey undid his sling. He looked at the signatures on the farmer’s cast in amusement – Shane’s and Haley’s had been recently joined by Abigail’s, Sam’s, and even Sebastian’s – and turned on the mini electric saw he’d brought over. He was relieved at how quiet the whirring was but he tried not to wince as the spinning blade came closer to the cast.

 _As if you’ve been shy around blades in the past,_ his thoughts quipped. Then, that patronizing thought made him realize with a slow horror that the doctor was about to be uncovering a lot more than dry skin. Obviously, he’d have seen it when he’d put Derek in a cast in the first place but he’d been _asleep_ for that; blissfully unaware.

His thoughts were interrupted as the whirring grew more shrill when coming in contact with the hard material. He found himself oddly touched when the blade’s track had been made with specific intention to not cut through any of the words scribbled on it. As he was warned, when the cast came off, it wasn’t pretty.

He hadn’t seen his arm in three weeks but he certainly didn’t want to be seeing it right now. His skin looked almost cracked and sickly. The scarring on his inner arm was stark in comparison, and some of the fresher ones were red with irritation. Then the smell hit him, and he fought back a gag.

“Oh, Yoba, Harvey. How the hell do you do this? I can’t even stand it and it’s _my_ own limb _._ ” Harvey just chuckled again and stood up to gather some more materials. He came back with a small tub of warm water, soap, lotion, and some form of anti-bacterial ointment. He carefully washed Derek’s arm with a soapy washcloth that was wet with the water in the tub.

After many, many minutes of gentle scrubbing, the odor was finally gone. Then, Harvey applied a scent free lotion to his entire arm before following up with the ointment over some of the more angry lines slashing through his skin. While his gloved fingers rubbed the ointment in, Derek felt the air change. _Don’t do it,_ he begged internally. _Don’t you fuckin’ do it, doc._ But while Harvey was book smart, he was no mind reader.

“Now, I chose not to mention the scars during your first visit but-“

“Don’t start now,” Derek quipped. He hated how defensive and cold his tone got, but he _really_ couldn’t be having this conversation. Not now; not ever. Harvey looked at him for a long time, and the sad look in his eyes didn’t seem too professional anymore. But that was a tad unfair on the other man – it _was_ a small town. No use in trying to hide attachments.

“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “You know where I am if you change your mind.”

“Yup,” he deadpanned, popping the ‘p’.

The rest of the visit was tense and awkward, but the doctor never let that professional smile wane, even if his eyes did a shitty job at holding back the more unprofessional concern. He sent Derek off in a black brace that hung around his shoulder like the sling did, but also hugged his arm. The farmer was shown how to take off and re-fasten the brace, being advised to wash the arm underneath once a day.

After he stepped out into the sunlight, feeling like his arm had dropped ten pounds of weight, he cursed the entire latter part of the visit. He hated himself with every fiber of his being in that moment. Because he knew he was helpless to his own destruction. It was times like these that he was sourly reminded that he’d likely doomed himself to a life time of never being able to wear short sleeves again, if he kept on.

Yet he just couldn’t imagine _not_ keeping on.

* * *

At 4:45PM, Derek was at the ranch door, anxiously wondering if he was too early. To be fair, he’d really tried to be patient. But he had finished watering his crops before the appointment and hadn’t done any harder labor for fear of backsliding his shortened recovery time.

He also, admittedly, _really_ wanted to see Shane. He was itching to smooth over the details of what they were going to be, if more than friends. His fingers twitched to feel Shane underneath them again; to tangle in his hair again. And _fuck_ he wanted to kiss the man again so badly.

So here he was, fifteen minutes early, and staring at the red wood like it was about to pounce on him. _What if they think I’m impatient? Will they be able to smell the desperation on me? Why couldn’t I have just waited a few more fucking minutes? Yoba, they’re gonna-_

“You almost done havin’ a conversation with my front door? I’ve been waiting for an in for, like, a minute now.” The familiar sarcastic voice drifted over to him. He whirled around to see Shane leaning against the fence where the cows were let out to graze, smirking lazily. He was dressed in farm clothing, white t-shirt streaked with dirt and _damn it_ how did t-shirts always look so stupidly _good_ on him. His worn out blue jeans also hung low on his hips and Derek realized he’d been blatantly staring.

Combined with being called out for pussy-footing on his stoop, Derek turned bright red. “S-s-sorry... I- I’m early... I think,” he stammered pathetically. Shane walked over, and the farmer’s stomach did excited flips with each foot of ground deducted from the space between them. By the time Shane was close enough for the red-head to smell the intoxicating musk of labor, he’d quit breathing altogether.

“’S fine,” Shane drawled, smirk melting into a small, shocked smile instead. “You got an upgrade already?” He asked, softly, gesturing to the brace. Derek stared into his green eyes and forgot there was a question he was supposed to be answering. He slowly let his lungs expand again.

“U-uh, yeah. Harvey said I got magical bones or some shit.” Shane snorted and the farmer found himself stepping closer, close enough to feel breath fanning across his face. The other man looked surprised but he didn’t pull away.

Derek took that as a green light and tipped his face forward slightly, pausing right before their lips touched; a final ask for permission. He caught the way Shane’s eyes grew a shade darker and it sent a shiver up his spine, as permission was being granted. He immediately cupped Shane’s cheek as their lips met, stroking the stubble there and unable to hold back the sigh of relief that left him.

He felt Shane’s arms wrap around his waist to pull them flush together and this time, Derek vowed he wouldn’t utter a single word if he felt anything amiss. The kiss quickly deepened and when Shane’s tongue slid gracefully past his lips, he became embarrassed as he let out the quietest of moans. But then, he didn’t regret it at all because now Shane was pulling their bodies together even _more_ and the farmer’s hand left that cheek to possessively curl into the hair at the back of the other man’s head.

And then they felt it – their hips shifted and their matching arousals brushed against each other. Shane suddenly broke the kiss with a gasp, nostrils flaring slightly with lust as his eyelids fluttered closed.

“We need to talk...” Derek’s voice came out low and husky, and he was pleased to see the other man’s cheeks redden slightly. Dark green eyes greeted him again.

“Yeah, s-sorry I... I would- just... Marnie is inside and she’ll be done cooking any minute and if she were to-“ Derek silenced him by putting a finger over his lips.

“Shh, I get it,” he whispered. He withdrew the digit and Shane seemed to fight with himself to be able to step back to an inconspicuous distance. “Sorry for jumping you like that,” Derek chuckled nervously. The other man shook his head slightly, as if to silently communicate that it were fine. So – naturally – Derek turned a bit bolder. “It’s just... whenever you wear those shirts...” He bit his lip teasingly, head still swimming from the kiss.

Shane slowly nodded up and down as if answering an internal question, breathing ragged. “Yeah...” he murmured. “We really need to fuckin’ talk, don’t we?” His voice was hoarse, too, and Derek really needed to get this under control if he was going to be able to face the man’s fucking aunt. Then again, a quick glance downwards confirmed said man was in no better situation. But that was a mistake because not only did it sorely prevent any progress in softening, but Shane also _caught_ him. “Quit it, Red,” he groaned. “Trynna calm down over here.”

“Well then go on somewhere,” he said half-teasing, half-serious. “’Cause so am I and I fuckin’ can’t if you’re still standing there looking like _that_.”

Shane smirked. “Dunno how you plan on gettin’ through dinner then.” Derek snorted and shook his head, willing his body to just _relax,_ damn it. Obediently, though, Shane disappeared around the corner of the barn, letting himself in through the gate. The farmer hastily adjusted himself, making absolutely sure he was okay before knocking on the door like he’d just arrived.

Still two minutes to spare, too.

* * *

Dinner was filled with Derek and Shane sneaking glances at each other like teenagers, while Marnie pretended not to notice and Jas pretended to eat the vegetables she was secretly just cutting into smaller bits. Her godfather had eyes of a damned hawk, though.

“Jasmine, you aren’t foolin’ anyone, kiddo. If you want dessert, you gotta eat your green beans,” he gently chided. The farmer loved every interaction between the two. Shane always called himself such a shitty guardian but he really couldn’t be further from the truth. It made his heart melt. Then, he got caught staring and blushed again, dropping his gaze to his plate.

Jas huffed. “ _Please,_ Uncle Shane?” He could almost picture that adorable face. Sure enough:

“Huh-uh. Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes. You wanna grow big and tall, don’t you?”

Derek smiled, but still didn’t dare look up, toying with his food, too.

“As tall as you?” She asked, disbelieving.

“’S not sayin’ much,” Derek smirked at his plate. Shane kicked him under the table and he snickered, while Marnie and Jas giggled. He looked up to lock eyes with Marnie, still wearing a teasing smirk. “Wow, kicking the already injured,” he told her, watching her giggle deepen to a laugh. “He learn his manners in a barn or somethin’?”

Another kick.

“Boys, boys, no rough housing at the dinner table.” Marnie said as she got her laughter under control. He finally let himself look at Shane, who pretended to glare at him – a smile hidden in his eyes.

**Shane**

Having the farmer sitting at his dining table with his family was a bit weird, he had to admit. The last time the four of them had dinner like this, Derek had just broken his arm and there was still simmering animosity between them.

It made Shane’s brain spin to think how far they’d come from punching the hell out of each other to getting too riled up in front of the ranch. But damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that right now, not if he wanted to be able to get up from this fucking chair.

_‘We need to talk...’_

It made Shane internally gulp. He didn’t do difficult talks.

_‘I don’t do romance.’_

He shifted uneasily in his seat, not liking to be faced with the fact that many resolves he’d known to be concrete were turning out to be little more than packed sand. In all honesty, he didn’t know _if_ he wanted to talk about what happened on Sam’s porch. Despite what he’d said an hour or so ago outside, the more he thought about it, the more he _couldn’t_ do it. In fact, as much as he loathed to admit it, he’d haphazardly created a nice comfy spot for that bit of Sunday evening in that suppression chamber of his.

How could he not? Just because Derek had changed his mind – for reasons he would truly never understand – from the beginning of spring where he’d hated him to now, didn’t mean Shane didn’t still have somewhat of an obligation. An obligation to make it known that he truly and honestly was _not_ desirable. It wasn’t bullshit, it was the truth. He was still a time bomb – too shitty of a person to gather the will to live.

What was ironic was that the same brain that told him he was nothing and that he _had_ nothing also liked to berate him for having _everything_ and still thinking about the southern cliffs. But no dark thoughts could be abated with _logic,_ because his logic center was in his brain; and it was his fucking _brain_ that was the problem.

So, no. No, he didn’t want to talk about it at all. Because then, he knew he’d have to lie and deny reciprocated feelings. Then, he knew he’d likely shave off a cripplingly large portion of the already thin timer when he watched Derek try not to believe him, before finally giving up on Shane ever calling ‘scene’.

He was ripped from his spiral when Derek’s phone rang loudly in his pocket. The farmer reddened sheepishly and peaked at the contact before furrowing his brow.

“Still Saturday, ain’t it?” He mumbled to himself.

“Yes, dear,” Marnie chuckled. “You need to take that?” Derek nodded, locking eyes with Shane for some reason.

“It’s Abby,” he said, still confused. He stood up and answered, walking towards the front door. “Hey, Abi- woah, woah, _woah_ \- slow dow-“ His voice rose and his last steps to the door became hurried, rushing outside. The sound of it closing fell over their stunned silence.

“Goodness, I hope everything’s all right,” Marnie murmured. Then, she stood up and did what she did best when worry overcame her – she mothered. She took everyone’s plate and began washing dishes, packaging leftovers, and asking Jas to wipe the table while Shane put everything away.

It seemed like an eternity when their door opened again and Shane turned, soapy plate in hand, to see the red-head’s face streaked with tears, blue eyes wild and panicked, hyperventilating. He dropped the plate into the sink as waves of protective concern barreled through all his carefully stacked suppression like a pile of tumbleweeds. He found himself rushing over to Derek and paid no mind to the way the boy threw his arm around him, despite being in the company of two other people.

“Woah, there. Breathe. _Breathe,_ Derek. What’s going on?!” Distraught eyes met his again and his lips floundered for a moment before finding their footing.

“S-sebby got into a motorcycle accident,” he choked. Shane’s brain did another spin. “Side swiped... on the highway.” Then he broke the loose embrace and looked at the ground, eyes darting side to side like he were searching for something. “I-I... I have to go see him. Abigail said he’s in the city hospital.”

“I’ll drive you,” Shane blurted. When Derek gave him a bewildered look, he continued: “Marnie has a truck.” He turned to his aunt, who’d covered her mouth in shock. She nodded violently, then, urging them to go. Shane needed no further invitation, grabbing Derek’s good arm as they rushed out the door.

* * *

An anxious and overwhelmed Derek, he soon learned, tended to turn into the world’s biggest rambler. The drive was forty-five minutes long but no silence was left unfilled as the farmer blindly stuttered and cried out sentences in his passenger seat that only made sense around six times out of ten. But Shane supposed if technology were invented that connected his thoughts to his mouth, he’d be like that, too. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white against it.

“Abby didn’t even s-say how bad it was. Do you think she’s even gotten there yet?!” Derek’s chest began heaving again. “Oh, yoba, d-do you think we should have picked her up? We could’ve made her fit, right? Fuck, what if Sebastian hates me for not bringing her along? _Damn it, who cares! Because what if he di-_ “

“ _Derek!_ ”

As with the outburst at the dance, Shane hadn’t realized he was about to yell until it had left his mouth. But this time, the farmer needed it. He needed it because his words were spiraling and nothing he was saying was ever going to be helpful.

“You _have_ to stop with worrying ‘bout shit that hasn’t even happened,” Shane said, softly. “You’re twisting yourself into knots over what you don’t even know yet.” _Isn’t that familiar?_ he thought, bitterly. Then, his grip on the wheel tightened even more and he was vaguely wary of breaking something. Shane’s words also weren’t enough – not for someone like Derek. He hated that he’d grown to know if ‘someone like Derek’ would or wouldn’t be receptive to a certain type of comfort. But he hated more that he’d grown to know exactly what type of comfort the farmer _did_ need.

And he wanted so bad to deny it. If his stretched skin across bulging knuckles were any indication, he’d rather use his hands to beat the emotions from his own skull, perhaps just spilling the whole brain in the process. Jesus, his thoughts today were intense.

But what was even more intense was the prickling protectiveness that never shied from the gaping shadows in his mind. The prickling that had Shane uncurling one fist from the wheel, feeling the joints creak under his skin like ancient door hinges.

“I can’t look at you while I’m driving,” he said. “But for right now, you can... hold my hand if... if you need to.” It was not only lame once it transferred from inside to outside but this offer was only going to make the eventual lying harder. Hell, he wondered if the clock would have any time at _all_ afterwards.

Yet, that was what he wanted.

Right?

Then, a shaky but warm hand with strong, calloused fingers was brushing over his own; barely there. If the two were in any other situation, Shane might’ve thought it was a tease. But he admitted with agitation that he _knew_ Derek – and Derek was probably shaky and uncoordinated because he was actually _miles_ away from his passenger seat. And Shane’s brain demanded that he take this as fueling rejection and return to strangling the wheel, leaving the hand he wasn’t allowed to be touching.

But then, the prickling demanded that Shane _grip_ it instead; confidently entwine their fingers. And his muscles only cared which impulse came last down the command chain.

As soon as they were holding hands, _of course_ Derek stopped shaking.

Because it was all fucked and it never wouldn’t be.

They held hands in silence until the large hospital building loomed in front of the truck’s dingy windshield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop, Angst City. Population: these two fuckers.


	16. We Poison Each Other Like Shakespeare Rejects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupidly long title; unfortunately shorter chapter. But there isn't much more for anyone to say, really, because everyone's in their own hellscape right now.

Sebastian had been put into a medically induced coma Saturday night after a grueling surgery. Derek, Abigail, and Sam were there as often as visiting hours let them. Shane had tried to do the same but he couldn’t hide the intense fear that paralyzed him while he was in the hospital. After he’d bolted out of the waiting room for the third time to have a panic attack under the awning, Derek – remembering the story at Jas’s party – assured him many times that he understood. He’d tried to tell Shane that it was _okay,_ because if anyone had to revisit the place they’d lost the two most important facets of their life, they wouldn’t be able to stay, either. The farmer promised that he’d get home just fine on the bus. When Shane left, it didn’t seem to be rain that was triggering his limp.

Sunday evening’s usual band practice was held in Sebastian’s hospital room. But the only instruments were the ones hooked to their oddly peaceful-looking friend. They all talked to him and to each other like he were awake, because the doctors said he might be able to hear.

Sam was the one who saw Sebastian’s eyes open late that night, right before they were about to get kicked out until morning.

There was so much relief but, for Derek, there was also so much tension. The dark-haired man wouldn’t even _look_ at him. He racked his brain desperately, counting each past day like he were making exact change – adding them up and finding that he was certain he hadn’t missed out on any of his days recently. Abigail and Sam tried to assure him that Seb was just disoriented, still. And he would’ve felt like an ass if he kept insisting on taking it personally.

So he hurt in silence until two in the morning, when Sebastian’s snarky jokes and tired but content smiles had turned into cold, mono-syllabic communication with the farmer too many times to bear. Because his friend was still alive but their friendship apparently wasn’t. And it was Derek’s fault because _every_ time someone left his life, it was his fault.

Even with the fatal plane crash years ago, it had been Derek who’d begged his parents to switch to a later flight just so he wouldn’t be woken by them at 5AM on the morning of his final exam.

So, he couldn’t take it any longer. Because he’d pushed someone else from his life and this time he couldn’t even decipher _how._ And that was almost _worse_ because that meant that he couldn’t fix whatever was wrong with him. It would just continue to lurk in the shadows, silently feasting on any relationship he dared create.

But as he began to make his leave, Sebastian called out his name. It was a panicked shout; impulsive.

And Derek had already been pulling away in that comfortingly familiar way that felt like ropes untying to let a docked boat adrift. But he was still tethered enough to turn and look the man in the eyes, feeling nothing and saying less. But, thankfully, speaking seemed to be Sebastian’s responsibility anyway.

“Next week... after practice,” his friend croaked. And it was already the most words he’d spoken to him at one time that day. He’d watched a pale throat gulp to fight the dryness in there. “We need to talk.”

Those words were achingly familiar, weren’t they?

Only _that_ talk hadn’t happened, either, and who was Derek kidding if he believed it ever would?

Then he was drifting out to sea, as he decided in that moment that he didn’t want to talk. Not to Shane. Not to Sebastian. Not even to his parents – whom he’d killed for a couple extra hours of sleep.

But he’d give both men the chance to talk, because if he was that insufferable, then he deserved to watch them walk away.

The last thought he remembered having was that the hospital’s florescent ceiling lights were kind of pretty up close.

* * *

Derek was back by Thursday morning. He understood why it had happened but he was pissed that he hadn’t been all the way present for the first three days Shane had been working on the farm with him. Stress found him like a bloodhound and he began to panic over how he’d been acting since Sunday.

_Sunday._

He shoved Sunday so far back into mind that he prayed it’d get lost there. As usual, he did at least have a few memories to work with. He knew enough space had finally been cleared for a coop but with Robin’s son in the hospital, there was no way in hell he was going to commission her for anything right now. Derek also knew that the Luau was today and he’d set aside the finest ear of corn he could find on his farm. The last memory he had was the group chat announcing Sebastian would be out of the hospital tomorrow.

After taking mental inventory, he sighed and begrudgingly got cleaned up and dressed before doing his chores.

He wasn’t sure what the Luau was about but he also wasn’t sure if he was ready to see how zombie-Derek had gotten along with his friends.

**Shane**

At least the festival got him a day off work. That didn’t mean he could sleep in, though, unfortunately. For some reason, the lovely party planning committee of this bumfuck town had decided they liked celebrating at nine in the goddamn morning.

Shane groaned, a hangover announcing that it was also very much not happy with sentience or _light_ at this hour. He got out of bed and grabbed the first towel he spotted on his floor along with what he was ninety percent sure were clean clothes.

He’d been on another downwards spiral since Sunday and Marnie was trying to be understanding but she must have forgotten that not even _Shane_ understood Shane. All he knew these days was beer, knots, and withering time.

Shane stepped out into the hall where Marnie was cooking breakfast and Jas was already eating a plate of French toast she’d made for her. His aunt looked up at the sound of his door opening and gave him a small smile and a concerned glance at a glass of water and two painkillers she’d laid out for him. He nodded, taking them with a sigh, and went into the bathroom.

From there, it was the usual ritual of pretending seventy-five percent of his body wasn’t there before slipping into the shower. The hot water eased his muscles and dulled his hangover enough to allow thoughts in.

Shane naturally thought about Derek and how distant he had been lately. He assumed it was because of Sebastian and didn’t press – just trying to be somewhat of an anchor for him. But what was peculiar was that the farmer never visited his friend after the Sunday Shane drove him, and he found himself wondering what the red-head might be hiding behind those blue eyes.

And then, Shane had seen – _really_ seen – the absence of _anything_ in Derek’s eyes. His mind had been drawn back to spring, where he’d seen him with a similar look. Only it wasn’t in fleeting glances this time, it was _right beside him,_ silently working in a state of stripped existence.

Shane unfortunately knew this, too, like he knew alcohol and giving up. And he felt like such a useless friend for not being able to help.

They also definitely hadn’t talked about whatever feelings were lying around patiently. Honestly, all they’d done was work side-by-side until Shane awkwardly called it a night. It sucked and he found himself hating every robotic minute it.

What was also making his world grayscale was the upcoming Sunday – the icing on the cake, really. The five year anniversary of Josh and Jillian’s deaths. It didn’t get easier as the years spun on, despite what the “experts” said. In fact, each revolution only served to remind him how much of a failure he was for his best friends’ daughter. How much theirs and Jas’s lives would be faring better right now if fate had somehow slotted him in their place at the club that night.

So, he hated what was going on between him and Derek. But he also vehemently pretended that he didn’t hate it enough to do anything about it. If Shane had no will to act on it, he wouldn’t have to worry about loss and failure ever again; not if he could beat it to the punch.

He told himself he was glad the Luau got him out of work but in truth, he was only grateful that he didn’t have to face another conflicting set of hours trying not to chase after a lifeless Derek.

* * *

He stood by a line of trees off to the side of the beach, eating a plate of hot pepper chutney – his favorite. At least with the warmth of the spice, he could pretend he was feeling pleasant things again. To anyone else, the festival might have looked lively; what with the colorful decorations, bright sun, pristine beach, crystal waves, and enticing aromas from Gus’s potluck table. But honestly, it was about as exciting as the promise of overtime pay at JojaMart.

“There you are. Hiding out?” Shane jumped a bit, turning to see that none other than Derek had snuck up on him. The farmer smiled apologetically. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook ya,” he said quietly. Then, Shane looked him in the eye and felt his breath catch, because he was _here_ – as in _really_ here. And he was numbly aware that their blue was perhaps the brightest color he’d seen in days.

Then, he realized he’d been asked a question and he took a sip of his – spiked – punch in a lame attempt to cover up his faltering. “U-um, I guess.” His eyes dropped to the large ear of corn under the farmer’s right arm. He remembered helping him pick that one out, watching the way he’d nodded with muted acceptance when Shane had pointed it out among the tall stalks. Now, it was being carried with a gentle and pleased sort of pride.

Shane saw Derek shifting awkwardly from foot to foot and had a couple of guesses for what might be making the man anxious. He could con himself about many things but he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t slowly found himself more in-tune with the red-head’s tells. And, he reasoned with his unreasonable self, he’d only resolved not to ‘go after Derek’. If the man were coming to _him,_ however...

Well – in that case, he could admit that an uncomfortable worry had been attached to him at the hip and he would stuff down the ticking sound momentarily if he had to, so it wouldn’t drown out the farmer’s impending explanation for the past three days.

“This... might sound weird.” _It won’t._ “But, uh... well, have you ever-“ Derek huffed, awkwardly readjusting the corn in his grasp. “Have you ever just... sort of... disappeared?” he whispered.

“ _Yeah._ ”

He had Derek’s full attention now with that singular, weighted syllable. Eyes that had been looking at the ground in embarrassment were now boring into Shane with... hope?

“Really?” The following silence was the only answer the farmer needed. Shane saw him sigh and then a small smile graced his lips before quickly falling back to where it had come from. “You know... sometimes I think you’re the only one in this town... or maybe _anywhere,_ really,” he scoffed. “That just _gets_ it.”

But while Shane _did_ to some extent, he didn’t _really,_ did he? Frankly, Shane only knew what it was like to look through his eyes like he were in a theater instead of his own skull, but he didn’t know what it was like to be gone for _days._ “Maybe a bit,” he mumbled.

“Any bit is enough,” Derek countered. “I’ll probably have some... questions... memory is foggy, you know?” Shane nodded, slowly becoming too exhausted with deciphering whether or not he did. The farmer’s expression darkened again and he saw a bottom lip being drawn between teeth and he had no business looking there; but he did. “I think Sebastian hates me,” the broken whisper was back.

“What makes you say that?” Shane asked in disbelief. The red-head sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had no business recognizing that move; but he did.

“I don’t know _why_ but he wouldn’t talk to me at all at the hospital... could barely even look at me.” Derek turned away but not quick enough for Shane to miss the tears making blue shimmers. He felt anger and confusion begin to bubble beside the chutney and the knots. He had no appetite anymore, naturally. “But then... right before I left,” he continued. “He looked at me... and... and he was so _sad._ Like I’d just told him his fuckin’ bike was totaled or somethin’.” A tear escaped and Derek hastily used his shoulder to shrug it off his cheek. “Said ‘we need to talk’.”

Oh. _Oh._ Shane quickly took a sip of alcoholic punch to cover the scoff that was seconds from escaping. Because it might not be clicking for the farmer but it was plain as day for him. Sebastian didn’t hate the red-head at _all_. No, not in the slightest. Quite the fucking opposite, actually.

His sip turned into a long pull and then his cup was pitifully empty and so was he. Because he couldn’t point out this lovely little epiphany, now could he? No, because _they_ “needed to talk”, too. And if either of them deserved to have that talk with Derek, it definitely wasn’t the rusty, old kitchen timer next to him.

“Sucks,” he grumbled. But that was too callous and Derek didn’t deserve that either. So, he quickly added: “I’m sure he’ll come around.” It was the best he could offer. And when Sebastian hopefully grew a pair and confessed to the farmer – not that _he_ had any room to talk, his mind quipped – then it would actually knock two birds out with one stone. And Shane had been waiting long enough for that stone with his broken wings folded against the wind.

“I dunno...” Derek was looking at him again, tears still silently slipping. It broke Shane’s heart and he realized that promises to Jas and confessions with Marnie were strong adhesives; but even they had their limits. The limit was barreling toward him. His clock had been shaved down and they hadn’t even had The Talk. “Sometimes, I just get so tired of people leaving...” he whimpered. Then, the gaze was dropped to the grass and an embarrassed blush graced Derek’s cheeks. “S-sorry... I’m not usually this pathetic.”

What the hell was going on? The farmer never talked about himself this way. Derek, the witty, intuitive, sarcastic, and compassionate farmer _never_ called himself pathetic. Or admitted that loneliness crept in the corners of his mind, too. It was too much, Shane’s brain cried out suddenly. All of the similarities were lining up in neat rows and he couldn’t bear to face them, because he _had_ to leave. And if Derek were really inside his head, he would understand.

“I-I have to go.” Shane’s voice was flat. Maybe he was already dead. It took every ounce of willpower in his bones but he didn’t allow himself to look at Derek. Or to stick around for his response. He walked briskly to the nearest trash bin and dumped whatever his shaking hands had been holding. Marnie might have called out to him. He didn’t care.

It wasn’t time quite yet but it was close – and his bedroom could be his hospice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapter is the 6-heart event and I will supply trigger warnings in the before-notes. Take care, everyone!


	17. Sunday, But Sun Clocked Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.  
> Okay, folks. This chapter and the next one are both 5k+. They're also very, very heavy. 
> 
> TW:  
> Suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, vomit, intense dissociation, heavy alcohol intake

Shane hadn’t shown the Friday after bolting from him at the Luau but Derek expected that. The unknown parasite had feasted on whatever he and his best friend had. It didn’t matter that he’d done everything he could think of to convince Shane he was a worthy person to stick around for. Because the world would only keep showing everyone that he wasn’t.

It was no use questioning why, either – he’d never figure it out. It was painful to keep trying. He was shocked, though, to find he wasn’t leaving his body again. Or even dragging out the familiar aftercare supplies. Maybe he was really giving up this time. He pushed that thought out with a wary glance – Derek hadn’t traveled down that path in months and wasn’t planning on revisiting.

Still, all he did for two days was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling – out of questions and out of answers. He hadn’t told the trio he was going to be missing pool night. His phone buzzed a lot that evening but, separated from its charger that was too far from Derek’s bed, it died. And so did his hope of proving any substitute parents wrong.

Sunday came around and he remembered his internal promise to let Sebastian say his peace before he left their friendship. He’d avoided all of them on Friday to try and curtail Abigail and Sam’s plight to his invisible repulsion; but now he realized with a resignation that there was no use postponing the inevitable.

Derek showered just enough to rinse the stench of despair from his skin, dressing in whatever smelled the most presentable and dousing the potential of any lingering odor with his usual cologne. It was raining outside but he didn’t own an umbrella. _Pathetic,_ he sneered internally, stepping into the light droplets.

* * *

“Hey, man! We were ready to come to that old cottage if you didn’t show again. We missed you Friday.” Sam was beaming at him and he couldn’t even offer a small smile because all he could think about was _not_ seeing the blonde’s grin. So, he just shrugged.

“Sorry, was sick,” he lied.

“You could’ve told us!” Sam clapped him on his good shoulder, ushering him out of the rain and into the warm house. “My mom makes a mean chicken noodle soup.” The kindness was too blinding to not at least _try_ for a smile. It was weak but it probably made its way there. Derek shrugged again, this time more apologetic.

“My bad. I just slept a lot, really.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

“Glad you’re feeling better. We really did miss you, yeah?” _But for how long?_ he wondered.

He was nearly tackled by a flash of purple hair as soon as he entered the bedroom. Abigail hugged him so tightly that he didn’t even have to force a smile anymore. And he squeezed back, because if he was doomed to lose this, he’d let himself selfishly enjoy what he had left.

“Derek! Where have you been?!” She punched his right shoulder with a playful giggle.

“’Sick’, he said,” Sam cried out with a scoff. “Told him he was a dummy for not letting us take care of him.”

Abigail shook her head with mock-disdain. “You boys are all so stubborn.”

“Hey!” Sam pouted. “Says the girl who pours her paycheck into _one_ arcade machine at the saloon!”

“I _will_ beat ‘Journey of the Prairie King’,” she shot back.

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, and then Yoba will come down and give me a kiss goodnight.” It made Derek snicker and Abigail turned her playful glare on him.

“Don’t you start,” she warned, wagging her finger. The farmer held his hand up in surrender, still chuckling. Then, he chanced a glance at the man who’d been predictably silent this whole time. He was willing to look at Derek, at least, but his expression was utterly unreadable.

But then, Sebastian gave him a small nod in greeting and maybe Derek could pretend that was enough.

“Let’s get going!” Abigail chirped. All three of them took their places and the red-head grasped the microphone that he sullenly realized he might not be permitted to use for much longer. Sam picked a random song on their list and music filled the room amicably. Derek felt a weight drop into the pit of his stomach as he observed that the unity of instruments that had been so enchanting now just sounded like a ticking time bomb. He resented that he couldn’t even enjoy what were probably final moments of “mattering” and “belonging somewhere”.

He stared into the object in his hand and thought about how last time he’d been here, Shane had been sitting on the bed in front of him. It seemed like it was ages ago – perhaps another lifetime. In reality, it’d only been – what – two weeks? How did two weeks manage to draw out so long? That had also been the evening of their first kiss and _no,_ Derek had to _really_ push that thought away if he was going to keep his shit together.

Also what the fuck was up with Sundays suddenly becoming the worst days of the week?

“Derek!” Abigail’s voice shook him from his thoughts and he blushed, realizing he had missed his entrance completely. He couldn’t look up from the microphone, though, afraid to see the disappointment in his band mates’ faces.

Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he finally tore his eyes from the wire grid. “You okay, man?” Sam’s voice was soft and his eyes were filled with so much concern. Concern that he hadn’t realized he’d longed for so desperately this past week. Someone who might _care,_ even if it was just for a second. He felt himself shaking his head, despite not giving his muscles permission to do that.

A throat cleared from behind him. “Uh... you guys think we could cut it short tonight?” Sebastian asked gently. _Of course,_ Derek thought bitterly. _Now he wants to leave because you’re making everything fuckin’ awkward._ But Sebastian _had_ wanted to talk after practice, right? Had he changed his mind? Had he decided he was actually content on slipping away without an explanation?

Derek _really_ needed one, though. It was selfish and it was petulant but he just needed to _know._ It was fucking killing him.

He spun around to face the dark-haired boy, not caring that tears were filling his eyes again, because he had no image to preserve anymore. If him crying cemented his worth – or lack thereof – to Sebastian, then so be it.

“What did I do?” he whispered. “I... look- I’m not... I don’t wanna overstep but I obviously did _something_ to make you... so damn _angry_ with me and-”

“Let me walk you home, farmer.” Sebastian was shaking his head solemnly, looking... guilty? What did he have to be guilty for? Was he going to gift him with bitter closure after all? Too many questions and none of them made sense. He looked at Abigail, who was glaring at Sebastian like she were seconds from clawing his eyes out.

He had a distinct feeling she knew something that Derek didn’t and it only made him more confused and apprehensive. The farmer turned back to Sebastian and nodded, giving one last look to the microphone as the two of them left.

If he lost them, he vowed the only audience he’d ever face again would be his bland shower walls.

* * *

The journey to his house was long and tense; foreboding. The rain was a soft drizzle that slowly soaked them but neither man complained, absorbed in their own thoughts. Sebastian looked at his feet the entire time, hands shoved in his pockets. It was almost exactly like Shane – just with none of the _actual_ Shane he had become attracted to. Shane, who would probably find himself walking this path in a similar fashion soon, an identical weight between them as the purple-haired man rehearsed the words that would allow him to seamlessly slip away.

“Derek, I’ve been a major prick and I’m sorry,” Sebastian mumbled quietly. This made the red-head’s eyes widen and his head jerk up so he could face the other boy. Dark eyes met his and they were sad and pooling with guilt again. “I’ve been callous and distant... but not for the reasons you must think.”

They were on the farm now and Derek’s head was spinning like the droplets of rain in the wind. It didn’t make _sense,_ none of it made fucking _sense._ Why else would Sebastian be pulling away if not out of a mounting hatred? If not to give the red-head a list of reasons why their friendship was dying? Everything fell quiet again until Derek was on his front porch, nauseous and emotionally strung out.

Sebastian gave a long sigh. “It’s my fault.” _What?_ “You don’t deserve my moodiness just because... just because I couldn’t face my feelings.” _What feelings?_ Derek’s mind screamed, tugging its metaphorical hair as it just tried to _make it make sense._ But Sebastian was frustratingly quiet again. As if the farmer were supposed to be adding two and two together when he’d been given Greek symbols.

“It’s-“ Derek paused when his voice threatened to break. He didn’t need to guilt-trip Sebastian; he didn’t need this conversation to be harder for the other man. “It’s not your fault.” He swallowed and looked at Sebastian, who was shaking his head. “I’m not... I’m not exactly sure what I did. But... it’s still on me. Not you.”

“No, you don’t get it, dude,” he growled. _Yeah, I really don’t think I fuckin’ do, Seb, so can you_ talk _, please? Because this is just torture._ The anger in his thoughts began transferring to his words:

“Then _what is it, Sebastian?!_ ” Then, he was beating himself up for losing his cool and his right hand tugged at his red curls hard – as if meaning were a ripe cauliflower he could simply uproot from his scalp.

Then, a cool hand wrapped around his wrist and his pitiful heart shrank at how it wasn’t warm like Shane’s and it made him want to scream, because why was he thinking about _Shane_ right now? Where was his goddamn head? Where was _he_? And oh, _Yoba_ , he was going to dissociate in the middle of this talk and he needed to ground himself, so he desperately clung to the cold touch that wasn’t Shane but was _something_ to tie him to this plane.

“Derek,” Sebastian’s voice was weak and his right wrist was being shaken free of its grip on his hair gently. Then, the hand – not as large or as wonderfully rough as Shane’s – grasped his and forced his panicking brain to search for Sebastian’s eyes. So, he did. And what he saw suddenly made two and two finally – _finally_ – make four. Gentle, sad, hopeful, nervous.

His friend was holding his hand and looking at him like... almost like he...

“Derek, I couldn’t face... I couldn’t face that I’ve fallen in love with you.” It was the softest that he’d ever spoken and the most expressive his eyes had ever been. The farmer could do nothing but stare in shock. Then, he saw it. He saw it in Sebastian’s eyes at the hospital where they’d carried the same look that Derek had been too heartbroken to catch. He saw it in the smiles Sebastian would sneak at him that Derek had been too busy thinking about Shane to read. It had been in front of him the entire time and he’d been utterly oblivious. Derek was so _blind_ that he had _destroyed_ himself.

But Sebastian’s voice cut through his thoughts again. “And I should have said something... but I saw... I saw you and Shane... and-“ He paused to lick his lips and if Sebastian were Shane, Derek might have chased the track of that tongue. But he wasn’t, so all the farmer could think about was how _weird_ it was to hear Shane’s name come from the other man, especially when nestled next to a reference of his own. “And I convinced myself not to try. But then... I took that ride into the city... trying to escape what I couldn’t confront.” _Oh, no. Oh, Yoba, no. I can’t do this. This isn’t happ-_ “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Didn’t even see I was straying into the other lane.” Derek’s nausea was so strong he was worried he’d hurl.

Because how was he not supposed to blame himself now? What the fuck was he supposed to be doing with _any_ of this? He loved Sebastian, sure. But he was _in love_ with Shane. And now that his self-deprecation had been spit in the face; screamed at for being so _wrong_ with so much devastating _confidence,_ Derek feared that rejecting Sebastian was going to triple the negative and the whiplash was going to murder him.

It would simply murder him.

“You know I dreamt about you? Like... in the coma, I mean.” Sebastian’s soft whisper was still desperate, pouring out his most vulnerable confessions while Derek found himself dissociating again. Then the hand dropped his and cupped his cheek instead and he fought back a shiver but he was grounded again, instantly. “In the coma, I... I saw... well, it doesn’t matter.” Sebastian bit his lip nervously, furrowing his brow. “My _point_ is that when I woke up, I knew I just had to try. I just...” Dark eyes flew back and forth between his as a thumb stroked his cheek and it didn’t contain the callouses Shane’s did and Derek almost whined.

He was so lost in his longing for Shane in that moment that he didn’t realize the dark eyes were now taking up more and more of his vision. Cool breath fell across his face and everything about Sebastian was so _cold_ against the warmth his heart yearned for. Or maybe it was that everything was cold in comparison to the chicken boy next door.

That damned whisper again: “I just had to...” Dark eyes disappeared and lips were on his. Instead of closing, his eyes shot open in shock. He didn’t imagine Sebastian – who’d always been reserved, quiet, brooding – to be so forward. Derek’s own lips didn’t move from their perpetually confused and uneasy line. Then, his heart roared at his brain to make the muscles in his body _move. Move,_ damn it, because he didn’t want this – he just wanted his friend back.

He jerked his head backward, Sebastian’s mouth falling off his with a soft smack that made him feel _guilty._ Like his stupid foggy brain hadn’t acted quick enough and now he was cheating on a man he wasn’t even dating. The crestfallen look made Derek’s stomach lurch and he thought about how goddamn embarrassing it would be if – after the guy had just made a giant confession and then kissed him – Derek threw up at their feet.

He gulped in an attempt to keep himself steady. “I-I-I...” His lips were dry, voice hoarse. “I’m s-sorry, Seb...” Then, he watched his probably-former friend turn without another word and leave. Derek stood on his porch, gutted.

He wanted Shane so bad, he realized. Even if he had ruined everything between them, all he wanted to see right now were green eyes. All he wanted to feel were warm palms and skin and breath and lips. He knew that may never happen again but – like Sebastian – he had to _try._

His house phone ringing was loud enough to carry to the porch. He whirled around and rushed in, confused. Barely anyone ever called him on his cell phone, let alone the cracked handset that’d come with the cottage. He snatched it up and wasn’t even given room for a curious greeting.

“Derek!” Marnie’s voice cried down the line. “Thank Yoba you picked up. Derek, I need your help. _Please._ ”

**Shane**

He hadn’t left his bedroom except to occasionally piss since he’d gotten back from JojaMart on Friday. Shane hadn’t even gone to the farm because Derek needed to get over him and Sebastian was going to be the catalyst. He knew the trio played pool on Fridays and he wanted to make sure nothing stopped the farmer from making it there, where the goth kid would ultimately spill his guts. And Derek would have someone to move on with – just like Jas would find a new guardian to latch onto. Everyone would find better people and Shane would be a faint, distasteful memory.

And then... well, and then, the rest was history. It was Sunday evening when he left his bedroom, finally, because hospice had run dry on its booze supply and that just wouldn’t do, now would it? He hadn’t slept at all last night, woken every hour pouring sweat as the flashbacks filled his dreams. They didn’t go away when he woke, either, so Shane just cried until he was out of tears _and_ alcohol. He wondered what Josh and Jillian would think if they could see him now – drowning and neglecting their daughter so he could drown some more. He needed more fucking beer.

He put on whatever clothes he could find on his floor – he hadn’t done laundry in too long, so it was no use deciphering between levels of filth. Not like he was going anywhere that required him to be presentable anyway. The ticking was the loudest it’d ever been – thrumming in his ear drums. Worse than a hangover.

He silently walked out of his bedroom, strolling to the front door without looking at anything except his destination. Surely, nothing could see him if he didn’t see it.

“Shane.” Fat chance, of course. He didn’t turn, nor did he drop his gaze from the door. He felt Marnie’s eyes searing into the back of his head and he imagined those old looks she used to give him, dragging them up from the depths of his mind – as a treat. “Shane, I told you I wasn’t going to be a coward anymore,” she said, voice shaking. “Something has happened. I know it. I can see it. You haven’t eaten since... yesterday afternoon?” He heard her footsteps moving closer and so he moved closer to the door in response. The shuffling sounds stopped when he did that. “ _Please,_ ” she begged. And it twisted at his heart but he convinced himself she would get over him. He didn’t allow any logic into his mind because he didn’t need anything getting in his way right now. “Please tell me what’s going on. I... I know what today is-”

No.

“Stomach bug, Marn,” he said gruffly. “Going to get somethin’ from Harv.”

“Harvey isn’t even _open-_ “

But he had already made it through the door and slammed it behind him.

* * *

Shane didn’t care that it was an early Sunday evening and people were still milling about around town. He drank openly as he walked through the cobblestone square, draining the first can of his new 12-pack of cheap Joja beer in one go.

He wasn’t sure where his legs were carrying him but he knew he couldn’t go back to the ranch. Not after what had just happened. Shane felt stares on him intermittently but – like his sulk to his front door – maybe nothing could see him if he didn’t see it. Then, the bus stop was passing by on his right and he only had a small moment to berate himself for autopiloting to the farm like a lovesick puppy, when he looked up.

And he saw exactly what he’d convinced himself he’d wanted to see. Sebastian, caressing the cheek that Shane knew from experience was soft and freckled. Then, the goth kid leaned in and Shane’s brain tortured him by freezing him in place until the two men touched lips.

Then, Shane was... out? _Wait what?_ He was _seeing_ himself. From... above? It was like dissociating but so much more _intense._ He wasn’t even sure he had much control over what was below. Had he died? Actually, he had heard stories of people dying from heartbreak just like a regular ol’ heart attack.

But no, that didn’t make sense. Because now he was watching himself turn away and resume walking. The gait was robotic and unfamiliar. It almost reminded him of...

Was _this_ what Derek meant? Had his sanity finally snapped?

Did he really care?

He supposed not.

Shane realized with a start that the ticking was gone. Even the softer volume it would sometimes lapse into was absent. And he watched himself walk like something from a movie about the undead and he realized.

His time had run out.

He was scared but that didn’t matter much because fear was up here and the Shane down there seemed nothing other than determined; resolute.

He knew his other self’s destination before it even blew past the ranch, moving south.

**Derek**

Derek huffed through the pain in his legs and his chest as he ran. He’d been searching for just under an hour and it looked like the mountains were definitely Shane-free.

How could he have been so _selfish?_

He _knew_ Shane had been unstable, yet he’d internalized the tell-tale signs of the man pulling away. He’d selfishly blamed himself. Yoba, it was hard learning that he’d been wrong about Sebastian; but it was _devastating_ to learn he had allowed Shane to spiral, even after promising he’d stay.

He ran to JojaMart and, seeing it had just closed, growled in frustration at the wasted time and ran down the bridge and diagonally through the town square. He ignored the stitch in his side and the faces of townspeople that were socializing around him.

Derek wasn’t allowing himself to think about what Shane might be doing right now, he just had to find him and prove Marnie and his ugly, panicking thoughts wrong. He just had to _find him._

He was ready to collapse from exhaustion and was pretty sure his legs were just moving on pure adrenaline at this point. They carried him past the ranch before his knees buckled. Derek let out a choked cry as he fell on his knees, right arm darting forward to catch himself.

His muscles screamed but he was already getting back up. It was then that his eyes flew towards the southern trees. He’d been through those woods multiple times – foraging and sometimes buying hats from a strange mouse that he would’ve had trouble believing were real had he not been actively working with Junimos at this point.

Derek also knew what was beyond all of that, though. Where the grass sloped and fell into the cliffs.

The fucking _cliffs._

Then, he actually _did_ lose the contents of his stomach. He bent over as he retched, narrowly missing his own shoes. Because he knew. His gut just _knew_ and it was spilling from his mouth to tell him how _confidently_ it knew. Then, he was running again.

**Shane**

He watched himself finish the fifth beer and he was just as intoxicated as his shell. Shane could taste the cheap alcohol on his tongue, too, and relished it. The fear had abated into a threatening and tranquil calm. He kept flickering in and out of reality, the dissociation so intense that it cradled him like a child.

When he realized what he was looking at again, he watched himself rising up to his feet, swaying and inching towards the cliff’s edge with maddeningly slow steps. Two more empty beer cans had joined the pile and that seemed to be enough for the undead to decide he was ready.

“ _Shane!_ ”

It was barely audible, a whisper – especially from his cozy perch in the air. But he cursed it as he hurtled back down, torn from the recesses of his mind, because even though he could barely hear that voice, he _recognized_ it. And he needed its owner to be far, far away from here.

Shane was back in his skin with a horrifying lurch of his stomach. He hadn’t even realized it’d been raining. He was soaked and muddy water pooled around his wet sneakers as they sank into the earth a mere two feet or so from the release he’d fantasized about.

“Shane!” It was still a whisper but it was _closer._

“Go ‘way, Red,” he growled, the nickname slipping out like a farewell. “Y’ don’ needa be here ri’now,” he slurred. Turns out that not eating in upwards of twenty-four hours meant that seven beers had actually been _way_ more than enough. In fact, he had a frighteningly short amount of time before he lost consciousness. Which would be nice, if it made him roll right off. But he’d have no way to guarantee that outcome.

He was wasting time. Shane stepped closer, drunk feet stumbling. He was ready to die; it was frankly overdue. Nothing had color – he was in a black-and-white movie. The call of the ocean waves smashing into the rocks far below drew him in like a goddamn siren.

And he was calm. He thought about never having to see Jas cry again because of his fuck-ups. And he was calm. He thought about Marnie finally being able to live without her strange guilt when she’d realize he was doomed to fail no matter who intervened. And he was calm. Finally, he thought about Derek having Sebastian to help him discover that any feelings he’d harbored for Shane had just been a by-product of pity – pity that had never held a candle to his new boyfriend. And he was _lethally_ calm.

“ _Please,_ Shane. Let’s... let’s t-talk, okay? I... I promise...” But Shane didn’t have time for talking, couldn’t he see that? What could Derek possibly promise him? Promise him that he’d stop seeing Josh and Jillian’s faces at night and in countless unexpected triggers? Promise him he’d stop perpetually failing at everything he touched and hurting the people in his life who counted on him? Promise that somehow, Shane even meant something to Derek? Something that would compel the farmer to overlook the fact that he was simply _too good_ for Shane? That they could live in one of Jas’s story books? Some gay fairytale?

“ _F’k **off** , Der’k!” _he roared. His rage echoed through the air until it crashed on the sharp rock-face and drowned in the salt water below. “ _’M nothin’ buh pathetic garb’ge! Y’ve no idea wha’d it’s like t’be defect’ve. **So y’re jus’ gonna f’k off n’ LEMME DIE!**_ ” The rain poured into his mouth as he screamed the words with his entire body, accidentally jerking forward with the force of launching them past his lips. The words reeked of the necrosis from his brain and they rang in his ears – the howl of a critically injured animal.

Then, two things happened simultaneously.

As his body lost more of its balance in the climax of his confession, the soles of his sneakers were suddenly over the cliff’s edge and sinking beyond, threatening to tip the scales between life and death. His stomach dropped as if he were on a rollercoaster, hurtling down the first slope. And in that nanosecond, he was painfully sober and _terrified._ He thought about something in that fraction of time that he hadn’t accounted for until the true and genuine threat of his life ending sent the thought to him, wrapped in a pretty bow of dread. The thought of _nothingness._ Eternally trapped in an absence he couldn’t fathom – where not only were his problems gone; but so was _everything else_. His calm which had seemed so sound before turned out to be exactly like his resolve – tightly packed sand instead of hardened concrete. In that nanosecond, he _wasn’t_ ready because death was irreversible and _final._ And hadn’t he been harping on for months about not doing anymore commitments? Furthermore, the ticking had quieted _before_ he’d detonated and tumbled into a marriage with nothingness – meaning he _hadn’t_ detonated, he’d been _defused._ Which meant this wasn’t _right._

The second thing was a surprisingly strong arm that wrapped around his midsection and tugged backward with so much force that the vertigo and the inebriation made him bend in half, folding over the arm and vomiting thousands of knots into the crashing waves that were supposed to have been whisking his body away, a newlywed set sail for his honeymoon.

And he was dragged back with _so much strength_ – or maybe he was just _very drunk_ – and he fell with his ass in the grass as the body attached to the arm fell on their ass, too. He felt a long, hard object digging across his mid-back – an arm; no, a brace. It was Derek. How the fuck had he covered so much ground without a sound? Or was it that the waves and the rain and Shane’s wails had muffled it out of existence?

It didn’t matter right now, though. Because right now Shane wasn’t flying down a track without a harness. He wasn’t reading vows to the grim reaper. He wasn’t _dead._

A strange relief barreled into him like the ocean on the sharp boulders of his aching muscles, eroding him to gut-wrenching sobs. The arm around his stomach pivoted upwards so that it crossed diagonally over his chest like a seatbelt, fingers hooking over his shoulder and pulling him impossibly tight into a car seat that was _warm_ and smelled exactly like his favorite red-head.

When Shane was little, he would always fall asleep on long road trips – lulled by the rumble of highways and the sound of radio music. It was convenient, too, as he would wake up at his destination without the grueling passage of time to bore him in the backseat. Funny how he’d always seemed to have a volatile relationship with time.

He heard Derek’s wailing behind him and he deliriously thought that this was the loudest vehicle he’d ever been in. But his body didn’t mind.

He passed out anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please reach out if you are struggling. This is a fictional story but depression and suicide are very real and very serious. You don't have to wait until you're at your brink. <3
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255


	18. Yoba Counted My Sins and Smiled Bashfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only part of the clinic visit. A lot of things need to be said and a lot of things need to be faced.  
> So, welcome to chapters 18 and 19(tomorrow), the siamese twins of Difficult Conversations.
> 
> Song featured in this chapter: "Thank You" by Dido

_“My tea’s gone cold, I’m wonderin’ why I_

_Got out of bed at all.”_

Shane’s eyelids tried to open but the blinding white light forced them closed again. What was that sound? He wasn’t sure but he didn’t quite want it to stop – which was a bit of a miracle considering daggers were beginning to gouge into his brain.

_“The mornin’ rain clouds up my window_

_And I can’t see at all.”_

It was singing. Was he in Heaven? That didn’t make sense for two reasons, though. For one, he didn’t believe in Yoba and he was pretty sure the guy at least wanted a little recognition before letting you into his highly-esteemed cloud village. Secondly, wasn’t Heaven supposed to _not_ be painful? His entire brain throbbed in his skull. The singing voice was nothing short of angelic, though. Maybe if he tried opening his eyes again. He managed to make out a generic white ceiling before his eyelids slammed shut again.

_“And even if I could,_

_It’d all be gray.”_

This song was pretty, too. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about where he was or who the singer was if he could just sink into those weirdly resonating lyrics. But then, his nose picked up familiar cologne. _What the fuck?_ he thought idly. Why would Derek be here? What the hell was happening?

_“But your picture on my wall,_

_It reminds me that it’s not so bad._

_It’s not so bad.”_

Shane’s third attempt at opening his eyes was successful but not without a low, gurgling groan of pain. The angel who smelled a lot like Derek let out a soft gasp of surprise and his shoulder felt colder and much lighter as they drew away. He almost whined, wanting to tell them to come back. To not stop. To let him drift away in peace with that voice.

“Shane?!” The hurried whisper made his heart race. It _was_ Derek. Then, a face was blessedly blocking out the blinding lights above him. And it was the prettiest shade, too. Blue eyes, tan skin, dark freckles across rosy cheeks and a gently sloping nose, strong jawline that held a peach-fuzz brand of reddish-brown stubble. Red curls fell down to frame it all as Derek was poised above him. A pair of lips – which he knew from experience were soft – moved: “You’re awake.” A relieved sigh sent warm, sweet breath over his face. Maybe this was better than Heaven. This was Derek. And now, Derek was smiling gently.

Shane nodded and tried to open his mouth to talk but all the came out was a rasp. His throat was so dry. Derek let out a soft _‘oh, right’_ before he darted away, unknowingly unleashing the blinding light on his sore eyes. He groaned louder, slamming his lids shut.

“Wha- Oh. Oh! Yeah, I bet. Kinda stupid for them to leave those on,” Derek said before Shane heard footsteps cross the room and then his eyelids went dark as the light switch must’ve been flipped off. He opened his eyes in relief, willing them to adjust to the darkness so he could see the farmer again. Then, a mechanical whirring sound made his hungover brain growl as his top half slowly lifted upwards into a reclining position.

What the hell kind of surface was he laying on? Rhythmic beeping reached his ears and he turned his head to the right to see LED lights and machines and wiring.

Hospital. He was in a hospital bed.

He and Derek were in the hospital.

Not just any hospital, he realized as he recognized the decor. Harvey’s clinic. He felt the mattress beside his left hip depress and turned to see Derek. He was grateful his eyesight had adjusted by now. He was holding out a Styrofoam cup to Shane which was fitted with a white plastic lid and a matching bendy straw.

“Water,” the farmer explained gently. “Drink. It’ll help.” _That’s what the beer said,_ Shane thought languidly. Though, in this moment, he’d do just about anything the farmer asked if it meant he could keep looking at him. He found his arm was incredibly heavy as he tried to lift it. He managed a few inches before it fell like dead weight back onto the mattress. Shane groaned.

Derek wasn’t frustrated with his lack of mobility, though. In fact, he only kept smiling in that gentle and cozy way that reminded Shane of being under a warm blanket during a nasty snowstorm. Then, the sheets rustled as the farmer leaned forward into Shane’s space and gently tapped the straw to his chapped bottom lip. He might’ve been embarrassed if he had all of his wits about him; but all he truly could care about right now was this ethereal figure who’d just sung him back into consciousness and was now helping him gather his surroundings.

His lips parted to let the straw in, gently drawing cool water into his mouth. It burned at first, chafing his dry throat, and he winced. But then it was soothing and he sighed around the straw before letting it go, accidentally timing the release wrong and feeling a drop roll over the desert of his mouth. His stomach grumbled grumpily, as if to warn him that if this were more booze, mister, he was going to have a nasty revolt on his hands.

Derek set the cup down and the calloused pad of his right thumb swiped affectionately across Shane’s bottom lip to catch the water that had dribbled out. He was reiterating again in his mind that he could live in this moment forever when the door on his right opened.

The farmer rose from the sheets – Shane wondered if the fabric missed his warmth as much as he did – and sat in a chair that he’d dragged to the left of the bed. The visitor flicked the lights on before anyone could protest but it seemed Derek had taken care to make sure his reclining position angled him away from the lights.

To his credit, the daggers _didn’t_ twist as hard this time. But still hard enough to make him wince deeply.

“Oh, wonderful. He’s awake.” Doctor Harvey’s voice. Made sense, Shane supposed. But why was he here, again? His brain didn’t seem to like levels of thinking beyond mute observations. “Shane, how are you feeling?” The doctor asked, walking over to his bedside.

“Like I kissed a bus,” he croaked. Harvey nodded solemnly and then began flipping through a patient chart he was carrying. _Shane’s_ patient chart. That was when it _really_ hit. He was in a hospital bed, in a hospital gown, hooked up to all kinds of machinery and sporting the worst hangover he’d felt in his goddamn life.

Memories began flashing through him, as his mind begrudgingly agreed to participate in the waking world.

JojaMart.

Beer.

Sebastian kissing Derek.

Floating?

Beer, but far away.

“Do you know where you are, Shane?” Harvey’s voice cut through the running film. Yeah, he knew where he was. He wasn’t blind. It was the _why_ that was the problem. So, if the doctor could kindly stop interrupting him, that’d be really nice.

Cliffs, also far.

Falling forward.

No – backward.

Derek’s arm.

Harvey offered: “You’re in the clinic.” _Shut up, damn it,_ his thoughts growled. Then, the pieces began falling into place like a fucked up jigsaw puzzle. Oh, _no._ Oh, _shit._ He was faintly aware of the beeping sound speeding up to his right and Harvey put a hand on his right shoulder. “Shane, try to remain calm. You’re safe.” He shrugged the hand off with as much agitated strength as he had in him.

Then, a much more welcome, calloused one filled his left palm and as soon as its fingers laced in his, he allowed his breathing to steady itself.

“I remember,” he growled with a rasp. He wanted more water. Shane’s head turned longingly to where Derek had sat it on a nearby rolling tray. As if the man were in his head, he released Shane’s hand to grab the cup. Shane wished the farmer’s left arm were back in commission already. But then, Derek was back in his space and resting the straw on his lip again. He drank as much as his stomach could handle before giving the farmer a slow, grateful blink that seemed to elicit a small blush. He liked that a lot.

“Very well,” Harvey continued. “Are you aware that you made an attempt on your life, Shane?” Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he could hold the water down anymore. He gulped. Yes, he knew. Shane nodded silently, guilt filling his entire body. He’d broken so many promises.

Sebastian kissing Derek.

That puzzle piece cycled back of its own accord and Shane felt his body stiffen, whipping his head to face the farmer before he could control the impulse. The other man’s eyes widened at the sudden movement before falling into an uneasy concern. But why was Derek here with _Shane_ when he should be with his _boyfriend_? A million accusatory questions swirled in his brain and threatened to roll off his tongue.

Unfortunately, the fucking doctor wouldn’t stop _yapping._ “Your blood alcohol level was 0.43, which is typically fatal. Derek called my emergency line after quite literally saving your life.” _What?_ Again, why was the farmer worrying about his pathetic, dead-end existence instead of worrying about sticking his tongue into the pasty fucker’s mouth? His stomach churned again and he squeezed his eyes shut against the nausea. “He said you had been dangerously close to jumping from the southern cliff face.”

Shane quietly seethed. He remembered, damn it. No one needed to remind him. He even remembered that pulse of lucidity where he’d panicked. Because he was too cowardly and suddenly sentimental about what death might be like to even follow through. Well, that and Derek’s arm had been like a fucking lasso. Speaking of which, why the hell was the red-head still being touchy and affectionate, like he gave a rat’s ass? 

He realized his eyes were still closed and he opened them to glare and curl his upper lip in a nasty snarl at Derek, who shrank back like a dog about to get struck. How dare the farmer forcibly keep him here, in excruciating sentience, to make him watch as Sebastian gave Derek everything he couldn’t. How _dare_ his past-self choke at the last second. Most devastatingly, _how dare_ Shane’s gut have the audacity to know that he’d never be able to get past that fear. The questions laced with razor-sharp edges surged forward again, begging him to take out his anger on his “savior”. His anger at the realization that his brain couldn’t blackmail the will of his soul into a premature demise.

 _Then, the **fucking** doctor. _“The alcohol intake was serious. But I’m more worried right now about your mental health. Since there is no question that this was a suicide attempt, I will need to have you committed to an in-patient facility for at least seventy-two hours to ensure your safety.” _Excuse the fuck out of me?_ Shane was glaring at the doctor now. No fucking way was he going into some mental asylum. Harvey saw his expression and his usual calm and gentle demeanor became serious and firm. “Shane, I understand you’re upset but I don’t think you know the gravity of the situation.” He took off his glasses and his eyes seemed bizarrely naked as they bore into Shane with an intensity that made a shiver dart up his spine. “If Derek’s call had been even twenty minutes later, you would be dead. Hell, if Derek hadn’t been there in the _first place,_ you would be dead. You consumed so much beer on an empty stomach that you’ve spent the last two days in an alcohol-induced coma. There were multiple times where I could not guarantee that you would pull through. In fact, we had to restart your heart the first night.”

The air in the room was pulled taut, the silence deafening. Eventually, Harvey’s eyes softened into an exhaustion and a level of anguish that made Shane realize he’d dropped his fancy title and shiny medical degree for a moment so he could truly speak to his fellow townsperson, not his patient – heart to heart. Then, the older man sighed heavily as he slid his glasses back on his face, becoming Doctor Harvey again.

Shane’s rage and disgust disintegrated as it hit him. It hit him like a damn truck. He hadn’t choked, or chickened out, or become a slave to pesky emotions. He’d actually, _literally,_ died. For however long, the beating in his chest had gone still as he and Death exchanged wedding bands. Shane had not only attempted – for a moment, he’d _succeeded._ And oh, Yoba, he was going to hurl.

Doctor Harvey knew that familiar expression like the back of his hand and a bedpan was under Shane’s chin just in time for him to retch loudly. He began sobbing, then, feeling more broken than his depression had even imagined. Because it was _Derek_ who had saved him from himself. The speak-now-or-forever-hold-your-peace had been called into the empty audience and the farmer had sprinted down the fucking aisle. The _farmer_ who would never be his. He was too broken to deserve him and it broke him further to know that.

The doctor moved with swift, practiced movements to wet a cloth in a nearby sink before gliding back over to Shane to wipe his mouth. Afterwards, Harvey offered him his water cup. He took it himself this time, wincing at the burn of bile washing down his throat. It made him cough bitterly, detaching from the straw, before he forced himself to try again.

When he’d finished drinking, he was reduced to the occasional sniffle. “Fuck...” he squeaked. Shane felt that strange and overwhelming relief that had plagued him when he’d been in Derek’s hold on the cliffs wash over him again. He wanted so bad to be able to loathe Derek for it but the hatred was just sizzling into resignation. Because he might be shattered in this hospital bed; but he wasn’t dead. And the only reason he wasn’t was because the farmer had been willing to show him his timer was nowhere near its final tick when Shane himself had been too slow to the realization.

In that moment, he realized he never wanted to hear that ticking again. Even on his worst days, his depression could never top the level of horror and shame he felt right now, knowing he’d held hands with Death on the altar and almost given It the eternally binding kiss on the lips. ‘Til Derek do us part.

But this all meant that Shane needed help, didn’t it? If he couldn’t commit to dying, he had no other choice but to live. And he needed help to remember _how_ to live, because what he’d been doing since losing his dad and his career and Josh and Jillian and _himself_ – well, it wasn’t technically _dying_ but it also certainly wasn’t _living._ Jas may know what being safe feels like; but he sure didn’t. He might as well start there.

“Okay,” Shane whispered with a nod. “Y-yeah, okay...” He turned to Derek, who’d been silently crying. When faced, the farmer hastily wiped his cheeks and offered a weak smile. It hurt just to look at him but he had to clarify. “ _Two days?_ ” Shane’s voice was still at a whisper. More cheek wiping. A sullen nod. Fucking _Christ_. If he’d been out for that long then what about-

Shane began panicking again, heart racing in dread and confusion. “W-wait, but- _shit_! Marnie?! Where’s- _fuck,_ she’s gonna kick my ass,” he groaned, dropping his face into his palms. Like a cruel domino effect, another agonizing thought raced through him and tumbled from his mouth. “Jas probably hates me, too. _Shit!_ ” he cried out, sobbing again. He pulled his legs toward him, crisscrossing them under the blankets as he bent over and cradled his face.

What had he done? How had his family been taking the news that despite their best efforts, he’d still found himself with no other option than suicide? Had they even been able to visit him as he had laid here and likely _looked_ gone? Did he just traumatize Jas all over again?

Why had he ever believed that devastating everyone around him was ever the answer? Devastating _himself_?

“No,” Derek demanded. From the cover of his now wet hands, Shane heard a chair scrape backwards sharply and he was suddenly enveloped by the farmer. The farmer with a _boyfriend._ “No, don’t you dare think like that. That damn thinkin’ is what got you here to begin with. No one hates you.” Derek had draped himself over Shane’s slouched back, wrapping his right arm around him until his hand was splayed over his sternum. Holding him. He wondered what Sebastian would think. “We were just _scared._ ” he whispered. “Scared of _losing_ you.” Was that meant to make him feel better? Because it only made the guilt deepen. _Why was Derek even still here?!_

Harvey cleared his throat – making the red-head lift off him and slump back into his chair – and Shane was truly about three seconds away from summoning any scrap of strength in his body to get the doctor to give him some fucking _space._ He needed to talk to Derek badly. He needed to ask the questions whose previously serrated edges were now just sanded down to blunt hurt. In reality, he’d needed to talk to Derek ages ago.

“I assure you as well, that no one is angry in the slightest. Perhaps emotional... and maybe to the extent that might _appear_ mad. But any frustration is just an extension of fear, as Derek explained. Now, I’m going to let you rest,” _Fucking finally,_ Shane grumbled internally. “But to answer your question, Marnie and Jas are supposed to be stopping by in”—Harvey glanced at a clock Shane hadn’t spotted yet, and his own eyes followed: 4:14PM—“about an hour or so.” Then, even though he desperately wanted the doctor to fuck off, another panicked thought raced through his mind.

“Shit! Work! _Morris_ is gonna kick my ass!”

“Easy, Shane,” Harvey soothed. “We’ve got you on medical absence up until a week after your return from the in-patient facility. Which you will be transferred to tonight around 8PM. I’ll be back around that time to answer any and all questions you have about that. But for right now, please just focus on resting and getting your bearings.” With that, he left in a billow of white lab coat and he was left alone with the farmer.

The silence that followed was heavy with all of the words Shane wanted to say. His mind was racing and his fists were clenching and unclenching in his lap as he tried to sort through the mud of heartbreak and confusion. What ended up coming out wasn’t much of a question at all. “You should get back,” Shane mumbled. “Sebastian’ll be worried.” Derek gave him a look like he’d spoken fucking French.

“The hell you on about?” And now, Shane _was_ angry again. The farmer didn’t have to be _coy_ about this. What was the point in playing aloof? Did Shane really mean that little to him that he’d try to feebly hide something so _blatant_?

“Don’t you dare try to lie to me,” he spat. “I already know. I was there.” _Well, that’s not creepy at all,_ his thoughts mocked. Why _had_ he even been there to witness that moment? He couldn’t just admit to spying and expect to fly with the excuse of ‘sorry, guess I kinda blacked out for a minute there and next thing I knew, I’m on your property’. What the hell does he say? “I-I didn’t mean to... you know...” _Brilliant,_ he chastised himself. “I was just trying to escape the house and-“ _And all I could think about was you because all I can_ ever _think about is you._ He growled in frustration. “Whatever. I was there. I saw you. So don’t bullshit me. Why the fuck are you here with _me_ when you should be with _him._ ” Shane refused to look at the other man, feeling himself shaking with intense emotion. “I connected the dots at the Luau when you told me how he’d been actin’ toward you. Seems like his Friday confession went well if you were all over him by Sunday,” he sneered. Some part of him knew this vitriol wasn’t justified – especially because he’d even gone so far as to stay out of Sebastian’s way on Friday to let it unfold. But, he argued stubbornly, that was back when he had no doubts about his ability to die. When he was sure that he wouldn’t have to be around to see the aftermath.

Derek stood abruptly and Shane expected him to leave. Instead, the man hoisted himself onto the foot of the bed that would’ve been occupied by Shane’s legs had he not folded them near himself earlier. The farmer sat facing him, folding his legs in the same fashion and fixing him with a piercing gaze.

“No one said shit to me on Friday.” _What?_ “In fact, I didn’t even get out of fuckin’ _bed_ on Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday until I dragged myself to band practice to let Seb have his damned ‘talk’.” A couple stray tears were falling down Derek’s face and he wiped them so furiously he was nearly smacking himself. “And you wanna know why that is?” His voice was rising, about to crack and Shane furrowed his eyebrows, trying to keep up. “Because what did you _immediately_ do when I’d confessed how miserable I’d been that Seb was leavin’ me?” Derek wasn’t attempting to wipe the tears anymore; it would’ve been like wrestling a goddamn river. “ _You fuckin’ left me, too._ ”

Shane’s eyes darted away as the remorse poured into him. He’d known the farmer had some sort of insecurity around losing people. On paper, it made perfect sense – the man had lost his parents young and then proceeded to get shuffled through hundreds of transient and uncaring lives until he was old enough to move out and... work at fucking Joja? Yeah, it all made perfect sense. Still, though, Shane hadn’t truly realized the depth. He hadn’t realized how deep it ran – like it wasn’t some mere insecurity like Shane had about his weight.

“I...” Shane tried, voice rasping pathetically again. He made a weak attempt to clear his throat. “I thought... I was doing you a favor,” he mumbled at the blankets. “Thought that... if you had him... th-then, uh... w- you wouldn’t need me-“

“ _Oh, brilliant!_ ” Derek yelled before letting out a choked sob. “So, _what_ \- you just figured you’d play fucking _matchmaker_ so you could... _what_? Tie up all your loose ends?! Make sure you got all your bases covered before you kill yourself?! _Fuck you, Shane!_ ” Then, the red-head absolutely _lost_ it. He bent forward, collapsing with the force of the most tormented sounding sobs, his head bowing into his own lap and his right hand yanking at his curls.

Shane could only whimper in response, feeling like he might just pass out from sheer emotion disregulation. He wanted desperately to explain himself but he knew that no matter which way you looked at it, he’d destroyed one of the very people he’d been trying to protect. But with death irrevocably off the table, he had no choice but to face his shit now. Even if it made that weird heartbreak phenomenon ironically kill him in the end.

“I... I-I’m s-sorry,” Shane choked out. “I r-really thought-“

“I _know_ what you thought and that’s why it hurts so damn much,” Derek cried into his lap. Then, he lifted himself upright and his blue eyes found Shane’s and the latter was pummeled with more despair when he saw the deep reds of his swollen eyelids contrasting with his irises in a catastrophically beautiful sort of disaster. It made Shane stop breathing. “I _hate_ that I’ve thought similarly before and I _hate_ how much you remind me of myself because I _hate_ myself. But I’ve never been able to hate _you._ I’ll never, ever, _ever_ be able to hate you.” Derek let out a long, heavy sigh, flicking his eyes off to his left. “But sometimes... sometimes you hurt me like I hurt myself.”

Shane’s lips were parted slightly in the same shock that his eyes were widening in. He’d never be able to understand how Derek could feel like that. But did it really matter _how_ it was possible if it just simply was? Shane recalled all the times he’d looked at the farmer and felt the same connection that had just been confessed to him. To realize how deeply he’d devastated Derek was a double punch to the gut. With that, Shane felt his body slouch and he was completely drained. Utterly exhausted. Yet, he just had to know:

“You like him, though? Kissed him?” It instantly brought an angry glare of ice and the red-head balled his right fist like he were about to deck Shane in his own hospital bed. Not like that wouldn’t be deserved, though, he admitted to himself.

“You’re a colossal fuckin’ idiot sometimes, you know that?” Shane looked away out of embarrassment. “Yes, Sebastian confessed to bein’ in love with me that evening.” His breath caught in his lungs with a painful hitch. Shane knew the guy _liked_ Derek... but _love_? That was... intense. “And then _he_ kissed _me_.” Another gut punch. “Not the other way around. No reciprocation.” _What_? But then why hadn’t he- “And my brain fuckin’ imploded for a minute. I mean”—Derek let out a humorless chuckle—“there I was, thinkin’ that Seb hates my guts. On top of that, like I said, I had all that bullshit with you goin’ on.” Every word stung. He had a fleeting wish he were still comatose. “And then he drops this fuckin’ atomic ‘I love you’ bomb... and I’m standin’ there like a goddamn idiot because... because I realized I’d been missin’ all the signals I’d usually _catch._ ”

Derek ran a shaking hand through his red curls, mussing them up in a way Shane tried not to think of as simply intoxicating. “And before I know it, he’s... touchin’ my face and shit and... and _kissing_ me... and...” Shane really would’ve been more pained at the stupid details he couldn’t stomach right now, except the expression on Derek’s face indicated he didn’t like these details, either. “And you wanna know the only thing I kept thinkin’ about, Shane?”

Shane just shook his head mutely. Because how the hell else do you respond to an obviously rhetorical question? “All I could think about the whole time was _you._ ” Derek’s blue eyes softened, pleading for the other man to understand. But Shane _didn’t_ understand. What about _him_ made him any amount more desirable than Mr. Dark and Mysterious Computer Wizard? He, who Derek had just admitted had caused him to be essentially bed-ridden for nearly the whole weekend? “I kept comparing how his... his stupid _hands_ were... too _soft_ or not warm or... or how his lips weren’t _yours_ and I didn’t even _move_ the entire time because not only was my idiot brain recovering from the goddamn _whiplash_ but... but my fuckin’ heart was breaking.” Coincidentally, at that point, so did the farmer’s voice. Shane’s capacity for negative emotions finally gave up, then, and numbness washed over him. He’d read everything so wrong. Then again, so had Derek, right? “Because I realized all I’m ever gonna want is you.”

Stunned silence.

Derek continued. “We’ve been needing to talk for so _long,_ Shane.”

And there it was. That was the bottom line. The undertone to this entire heaping pile of shit both of them had been building towards. They should’ve just talked right after their first kiss on that Sunday. Maybe it wouldn’t have solved every single thing. Maybe Shane still would’ve needed to feel the drop of his stomach as he almost plummeted to his death for him to realize he’d never truly wanted to stop existing _completely_ so much as he just wanted to stop feeling like shit all the time. But even if it hadn’t solved every single thing, it would’ve been enough.

“How could you still want to talk to me about that?” Shane asked softly with a confused shake of his head. “After... after everything I’ve put you through-“

“Do you not listen?” Derek’s voice wasn’t as angry, so much as just exasperated. “Like, ever?”

“I _did,_ ” he cried. “It just doesn’t make _sense!_ ”

“Yeah, well, sometimes things don’t make sense.” And then, Shane almost laughed because isn’t that _exactly_ what he’d told Jas the night he’d promised her he’d never end up in this bed?

“All this time...” Shane shook his head and looked at his hands. “All I needed was just to _know._ ”

“Know what...? If I want to pursue somethin’ with you?” Derek scoffed incredulously. “What do you think ‘more than friends’ means?!”

“That’s the _point._ I _don’t_ know what it means! You seem to keep forgetting that you’re getting the short end of the stick in this.”

“’The short end of the’- Shane, will you quit that, already?!” Derek huffed again and grabbed the left side of Shane’s face firmly. “Have I not established how irreversibly and undoubtedly _pathetic_ I am for you? The past two weeks have been hell on earth not knowing if you feel the same.” Shane’s jaw dropped. _What?_

“Wh- how the hell could I _not_ feel the same?” he asked softly. “W- I mean... what do you _want_ then? You know, friends with benefits is technically a step above friends.” Derek wrinkled the bridge of his nose in visible distaste.

“I don’t want that, do you?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Then?”

Shane growled in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. If there was no use convincing the farmer of the mess he was getting himself into by pursuing him, then he might as well quit trying to force him to. Derek had been honest with his feelings. Now it was Shane’s turn. “I wanna buy you one of Pierre’s stupid ass bouquets,” he mumbled. The farmer laughed in a wild, relieved sort of way at that, tilting his head back before locking their gazes again and shaking Shane’s face for emphasis.

“Then _buy_ me one. And I’ll accept and call you my fuckin’ boyfriend and we’ll flip off anyone who has the gall to give us lip about it and I’ll show you _every damn day_ that no one’s getting the short end of any sticks. And we’ll _talk_ when we need to talk and we’ll learn how to quit beating the shit out of ourselves.”

Then, Derek got up and crossed over to the sink area, ripping open a cabinet and pulling out what looked to be a maroon, plastic tub that had been on a uniform pile of identical tubs – all labeled ‘Toiletries’. When he came back, he dropped a mini-toothbrush, travel-sized toothpaste, hospital-brand mouthwash, and a fresh bedpan onto his lap.

“Clean up.” he commanded. “Then, we’re gonna kiss and make nice,” he clarified with a soft smile.

Shane scoffed playfully, heart suddenly racing as he blushed. “You’re crazy, you know that?” But he was picking up the toothbrush and the tiny tube of generic mint toothpaste, and Derek’s smirk made him chuckle. It took him a solid five minutes and by the time he was done, all Shane could taste or smell was mint and it made his eyes water.

Derek haphazardly stuffed everything into a trashcan, uncaring, and then shocked Shane when he climbed into his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his legs. The purple-haired man sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

“Better hope Maru doesn’t come in,” he mumbled, unable to hold back an amused smile. He put his hands on Derek’s hips as the other man cupped his outgrown stubble.

“Shut up and kiss me, chicken boy.” The two men brought their mouths together in a desperate, feverish collision that was a balm to so many scathing emotions that had seared scars into their brains. He felt Derek sigh through his nose, sinking more weight on his legs accidentally – not that Shane minded much. In fact, the weight of the farmer against him combined with the weight of relief that they’d finally had the courage to bare the splinters of their hearts for the other man to carefully mend was so intoxicating that Shane couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. It wasn’t even necessarily from arousal – though that was definitely there, no doubt – as much as it was the sudden emotional weightlessness that came with the conclusion of this chapter of hell.

Then, realistically, it got heated and Derek had to physically remove himself from Shane’s lap if they wanted to stay presentable. Instead, the farmer pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat, laying his head on Shane’s left shoulder – the familiar pressure sparking something that Shane had almost forgotten about.

“Hey, were you singing to me earlier?” He turned his head slightly just in time to see Derek blush.

“Maybe...” he said, coyly.

“I liked that song a lot.”

Derek hummed. “Yeah, it’s fitting.”

“I noticed,” Shane agreed. “Loved your voice even more,” he said in a low murmur. Derek’s blush deepened. “Think... think maybe you could, uh... finish it?” Derek looked up at him and _beamed._

“S-sure,” he whispered. Then, both men closed their eyes, wearing matching smiles.

_“Drank too much last night,_

_Got bills to pay._

_But my head just feels in pain._

_I missed the bus and there’ll be hell today,_

_I’m late for work again._

_And even if I’m there, they’ll all imply_

_That I might not last the day._

_And then, you call me_

_And it’s not so bad._

_It’s not so bad.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One down, two to go.


	19. Dr. Seuss's Book on Depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the clinic visit and whewww... we still emotional, folks.

For twenty minutes after Derek finished singing, Shane dozed off under the thin blankets.

Then, there was a brisk knock on the room’s door and he jolted awake, watching the farmer’s head jerk up from his shoulder. As the man stretched, Shane wondered for a moment if he’d slept, too. It was a thrilling thought – sleeping next to Derek.

The door opened, then, and in came Marnie and Jas. Shane saw that Marnie’s eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags underneath them. He felt a twist in his gut; searing him from the inside. Jas looked like she was still crying, which intensified the feeling even more.

“Hey,” Marnie whispered as the pair got to the foot of his bed. Though tears were pouring down her cheeks, the small girl beside his aunt was eerily silent. Her head was bowed slightly, refusing to look at him and her shoulders quivered vaguely. It haunted him.

He was opening his mouth to reply, when Jas seemed to break from the stoic spell she’d been under as she _climbed_ over the back frame of the bed, launching herself onto the blankets. Her face contorted into an intense anguish that shouldn’t be seen on any kid’s face.

“You promised me!” She yelled, sitting on his feet, pounding and slapping her little fists on his shins. Shane had never seen her behave like this and it shook him to his fucking core. All he could do was stare in mute horror, wincing at the blows, though the pain they inflicted wasn’t physical in the slightest. Her high-pitched words ricocheted off the walls of the silent room and echoed in his ears. And it was all his fault. She was only eight and he’d _broken_ her. “You _promised,_ dad! _You promised!_ ”

At once, Shane began uncontrollably sobbing into his elbow – because she’d just _called him_ _that_ and he couldn’t believe he had let his brain tell him that she _wouldn’t_ have missed him, when he wasn’t even _dead_ and she was wailing at him like she were at his wake. In the same moment, Derek shot up and lifted her from behind like Shane always did when she got carried away while they were playing. Because, before today, the only “carried away” the girl ever got was in relation to excitement. The farmer hauled her off and he couldn’t help but wish he’d let her just get it all out. He deserved every bit of her enormously tiny rage.

And Shane watched, hiccuping wildly with the lasts of his sobs, as she thrashed for a minute in Derek’s lasso-like right arm. Then, the farmer simply sunk to the floor with her. She only fought for a brief minute more, before she curled into his lap and bawled against his chest. A spot she always sought from Shane when she was upset; a spot that she’d probably never again be able to rest her head without imagining it cold and silent; pink stethoscope a nasty premonition.

Then he looked at Marnie, still hyperventilating slightly, and saw her rip her gaze away from Jas and Derek to look at him with the same horror-filled sorrow that was making his stomach roll. She evidently hadn’t anticipated that strong of a reaction, either. It made Shane wonder what Marnie had even told her; how Jas had been acting before now. Then, his aunt rushed over to his bedside and wrapped her arms around him, crying into his shoulder.

Yoba, he was making everyone _cry._ Even his damn self. He was so flooded with guilt that he didn’t even notice he’d stopped breathing until his heart monitor began to squawk. Marnie shot up like she’d accidentally crushed him but he just shook his head and covered his face like the coward he was.

“Okay... okay, now,” she said in a soft voice, combing her fingers through his hair. Shane never knew his mother but sometimes Marnie almost felt like one to him. As she soothingly slicked his hair back, his breaths became more steady. The only sounds were Jas’s faint hiccups and the farmer’s gentle ‘shh’s as he rocked her on the floor.

Guilt surged again, because he’d proven to his goddaughter that he wasn’t a reliable source of comfort. He was just as transient as her biological parents. People kept leaving her like people kept leaving Derek – and Shane had carelessly reopened their wounds simultaneously.

“Jasmine,” he croaked, voice thick with tears, still. He needed to say something; anything. Reassure her like he’d reassured Derek that he’d let himself be swindled by the invisible monster under his bed and it didn’t excuse anything but at least it meant _she_ wasn’t the common denominator, here. “I... I didn’t-“

“Shh,” Marnie cooed at him. “Shane, honey... she doesn’t... she doesn’t understand. She’s just scared.” And hadn’t he heard _that_ one before? Again, it didn’t make him feel a damn bit better if that was the intention. Fear fed trauma like a baby bird, after all, and he was supposed to be _protecting_ her like he was supposed to be protecting Derek. And just like the red-head, she deserved any explanation he could give.

“Maybe it’s time she knew?” he whispered back. “She’s so freakin’ smart and... she just thinks I don’t want her or something, when... when it’s not-“ Marnie cut him off with a small nod. Then another, as if reassuring herself.

“Okay,” she shuddered. “Okay. But... try to not- well, she’s still just a little girl. Big brains aside,” she smiled sadly. He understood what she meant. Shane wasn’t about to go into any grueling detail. He turned his head the other way to face the other two.

“Jasmine... c’mere. Come here and... and I’ll try to... to be honest.” She seemed hesitant, at first, when she rose from Derek’s lap. But then, she was hopping up on his bed in a flash and throwing her arms around his neck. The reclining position Derek had put his bed at meant he had to awkwardly support her bottom as if she were being carried, so that she wouldn’t slip down. He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her tight as she broke into fresh sobs.

He began to rub soothing circles into the back of her pink shirt until the strangled sounds abated again. When she lifted her face from his shoulder, she clumsily wiped strands of wet hair from her face with the heel of her hands as her bottom lip still quivered. Shane thought about how the hell he was going to explain this. It couldn’t be anything as raw and gruesome as the conversation he’d had with Derek, yet it needed to get the same point across regardless.

“You know how...” he gulped. “How I say that... I’m sick a lot?” She sniffled and nodded. “‘Cause of the, um-“ _What did she call it?_ “th-the soda... I drink?”

“Y-yeah and it makes you throw up a lot and be in your room all the time,” she said quietly. “ _Why_ would you drink something that makes you _sick_?” It was the same conversation he’d had with her in her bedroom. But this time he’d just vowed not to deflect. Now he had to follow through.

“Because...” He licked his lips nervously. “Sometimes... people have a, uh...” He rubbed her back again as he thought of the words he wanted to use. “People get really, _really_ sad... no matter if they’re havin’ a good day or a bad one.”

“Are you one of those people?” she whispered. Shane nodded. Then, he looked at Marnie and saw her smile slightly; a gentle reassurance to continue.

“A-and sometimes... when people get that sad... they, um- well, they start bein’ mean to themselves. And they make bad choices, remember?” She whimpered a soft _‘mhm’._ “Bad choices like... makin’ yourself sick.” Shane winced at how pathetic it sounded against the open air. Jas gave him a confused look again and he couldn’t help but think that he _really_ was not good at this. Then, Derek locked eyes with Shane; a silent ask for permission. One which he gratefully granted.

“Jas,” the farmer started to get her attention. “What he’s tryin’ to say is that not only does he get sad a lot; but the reason he gets sad is because his brain can be really mean to him.” Derek reached out and began stroking her hair, looking down with fond, forlorn eyes. “Tells him lies and calls him names. Like a bully. So... it makes him wanna be mean to his body, too.” His goddaughter wrinkled her nose at that.

“How do you be your own bully?” she asked with her perpetually clumsy sentence cadence. “Can’t you make it stop?” Shane resumed circles on her back, making her turn to face him once more.

“I’m going to be gone for a few days,” he explained. He watched her panic mount and quickly continued to soothe it back down. “J-just for a bit. So I can get some, uh... some help.” He gulped. Yoba, this was awkward. “And hopefully... I’ll learn how to stop being so sad all the time. That way... I won’t want to get sick...”

“We have medicine at home!” She argued.

He let out a pained hiss, feeling like he was only making her more confused. Luckily, Marnie decided to tag in.

“Jas, you’re a big girl now, right?” Said girl nodded slowly, as if to say _‘duh, you tell me every day’._ “Well, the reason we’re telling you this is because you are big enough to know that when your Uncle Shane says ‘sick’ in this way, he means has a type’a illness that looks a wee bit different than what you might be used to.” She waited for Jas to indicate she understood before continuing. “It’s different because you can’t really see it on the outside. He doesn’t get a stuffy nose or a sore throat like you’d think. That’s because it’s up here,” she tapped her temple.

 _Oh great, Marn,_ his thoughts couldn’t help but groan. _Go on and tell the kid I’m sick in the head._ Shane was ready for this awkward tip-toe dance to be over.

“Point is, kiddo,” he said, as the desperation to be done with this gave more strength and surety to his voice. “It’s nothin’ about you, okay? It’s all me. I can’t control when I get sad and I’m hopin’ to go figure out how to.” He sighed and switched to rubbing her shoulders with his hands. “Is any of this making sense?”

“Kind of...” she said slowly. She fixed him with her watery, purple eyes again. “Does it be mean to you every day?” Shane sputtered for a moment before nodding, feeling an odd flush of embarrassment run through him – he’d never had to think about how _often_ his mind rot but “every day” seemed pretty fucking apt. Jas’s face softened in thought before shifting to a fierce determination as one of her small fingers poked him on the cheek. “Well, Miss Penny makes Vincent go in time-out when he’s being a snot head-“

“ _Jasmine._ Manners,” Marnie chided.

“It’s true!” She nodded vehemently. “And then he’s nice to me for the rest of the day! I can get Miss Penny to help you, too,” she smiled. Shane instantly paled and he sat up from his already reclined position, shaking his head back and forth.

“N-no! No, no. No, don’t... don’t... y- this is... this is a very big secret, Jas.” Yoba, if she told Penny about this, he could already picture the piteous looks he’d get on top of the routine disappointed and disgusted ones. “I only tell people I really, _really_ trust. Okay?” Her face fell but she quietly mumbled an _‘okay’_ before barreling on.

“If you trust me, how come you don’t wanna be my dad?” Her voice cracked on the last word and Shane grit his teeth against the fresh wave of shame and guilt that hit him. He was starting to feel more like he’d been dropped into a boxing ring than a clinic bed and the referee had already called it but she wouldn’t stop throwing punches. Shane would force himself to suck it up, though.

“Jas, dear...” Marnie started but Shane shook his head and sighed, squeezing his goddaughter into another hug.

“N-no, Marn.” Jas was hurting – and she’d _been_ hurting for so long. And for what? Because he’d decided for her? He’d played matchmaker with Derek and guardianmaker with her, hadn’t he? That just didn’t sit right with him anymore. He reminded himself that if he was supposed to be living now, it was time to stop pretending he could ever be a background character in her life. The fact of the matter was this little girl _needed_ a father figure; and it didn’t matter if he saw himself unfit, because his job was just to provide what she needed.

And Shane would provide this little girl with the entire fucking world if he could.

“We’ve been through a lot... haven’t we, kid?” That was the understatement of the year. He’d been caring for her for eight years – legally for four. Even on his worst days, he’d never yelled at her. They grieved in vastly different ways, sure, but they both sorely missed the same people. She was even picking up his interests and, sometimes, when she was petting one of the chickens while he fed them their grain, he couldn’t help but think how an outsider would have no second thoughts about Shane being her biological parent.

Jas gave him a sad nod. “Yeah,” she whimpered.

“And... and you know I love you very much, right?”

She huffed slightly. “I _know_ ,” she whined. “But-“

“So, there. That settles it, huh?” He smiled at her. “If that’s... if you want me to be... then, well-“ Shane let out a small, incredulous chuckle. “I call you ‘kid’ all the time but you’re not just _any_ kid.” He inhaled shakily and shot a glance at Marnie for the last scrap of comfort he needed. He found it instantly. “You’re _my_ kid. So, maybe it’s about time I be your dad.”

Then, her adorable face split in the widest grin he’d seen in ages and he didn’t even allow himself to blink; demanding that his brain commit the image in front of him to memory. It was night and day to the chilling grief she’d been wearing like a shawl earlier. She launched forward and threw her arms around his neck again, squealing in his ear. He winced at the noise but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. In fact, he’d happily go deaf from her screams as long as they were of joy and not agony.

Then, he was quietly crying again.

Because now he _really_ had to get better.

* * *

As it got closer to 8PM, Marnie and Jas made their leave. The small girl had worn herself out between school and the emotional rollercoaster Shane had put her through, and she’d fallen asleep right in his lap. Marnie wished him luck on the transfer to the facility and kissed him on the forehead.

She also told him Harvey had her bring a gym bag of a few changes of clothes and other things he could take with him during his stay. Jas chimed in that she’d packed stuff in there for him, too. That made Shane smile and he already knew whatever _his kid_ had slipped into his bag would probably be some of the items he kept with him the most.

Marnie added that he’d better call when he got settled and let her know when visiting hours were. Shane thought it might be a bit embarrassing to have them visiting him in a fucking psychiatric ward but, then again, these were the people he trusted the most. Derek seconded her statement matter-of-factly.

After everything that had occurred since Shane had woken from Death’s embrace, he was more than exhausted. Derek must have seen the way his eyelids were drooping and he smiled fondly at him from his chair.

“Hopefully, Harvey will come wrap things up soon so you can get some rest, eh?” The farmer brushed limp, purple bangs from his forehead and he leaned into the touch. The hand slid down to Shane’s cheek and he felt a thumb rub over his cheekbone in slow arcs before it stilled and Derek’s face became serious; contemplative. “I-I’ve been thinkin’...” Shane instantly felt like a rock dropped into his gut as his brain – in typical bully fashion – began listing off the worst sets of words that the farmer could say next. “Well, maybe since you’re gonna be makin’ an effort to... you know... get better and stuff...” The lingering pause filled him with a weird, nervous lilt in his stomach. “Maybe... maybe I should, too.” It was so soft, Shane almost couldn’t make it out.

He tried to keep the eagerness from his voice, that’d probably come across condescending. “Y-you mean...” Shane cleared his throat awkwardly. “You mean with the, uh...” He gestured lamely to the inside of Derek’s wrist that was still nestled by his face. He felt pathetic that he couldn’t even say it. The farmer didn’t mind being blunt, though.

“With the cutting, yes,” he said curtly. Then, Derek sighed like a weight had been lifted off him. As if now that he’d dare spoken his intentions into the light of day, he had already begun. Which, Shane supposed, was true. He found himself grinning lopsidedly at the red-head, who scoffed in amusement with a blush. “Don’t give me that look, you ol’ dope.” But he was smiling again, too, and started stroking Shane’s cheek again. “Besides,” Derek mused. “If we’re s’pposed to be goin’ _steady_ ,” he giggled at that and it was such an adorable fucking sound. “Then, we also gotta make sure we’re solid in our own skin, right?”

Shane bit his bottom lip and nodded. Because, it made sense, yeah. But both men knew it was going to be rough as hell. And there’d be hiccups and challenges and probably even some nasty arguments. Shane swallowed nervously, hesitant to think too hard about the future. He hadn’t thought further ahead than the next few hours in years. He’d convinced himself he didn’t need to.

“You... you really think we can do this?” His voice was soft and tried not to hate how vulnerable he was being.

“No way of knowin’ if we never try,” Derek shrugged. Then, the farmer leaned in and Shane melted against those lips. It was chaste but it left them both with dorky grins.

Then, Harvey strolled in and it was back down to business.

The next half hour went by at an alarming speed. The doctor told him the name of the facility was Zuzu Behavioral Center. He was being transferred by hospital van and would arrive in about an hour. Harvey explained that, during intake, Shane would be given all the information he needed about the daily routine, visiting hours, items that could be brought to him, and also about the psychiatrist and therapist he’d be working with during his stay.

“Lastly,” Harvey continued, extending a business card. “The professionals you see on the ward do not take outside clients. Therefore, I’ve written a list of names and numbers of therapists on this card. After your discharge, I strongly urge you to make contact.”

Shane nodded, head spinning and anxiety twisting in his gut. He turned to Derek, panicked eyes searching for his favorite shade of blue. The farmer cupped his stubble again, kissing his forehead right in front of the goddamn doctor. But Shane didn’t mind much. Harvey probably guessed anyway.

“You’ve got this,” Derek reassured. “It’ll be strange but just keep remindin’ yourself why you’re doing this. Why you _need_ this.” Shane’s eyes flicked between the farmer’s, trying to draw confidence from them. “We’ll be right here when you get back. I’ll also visit every day, okay?” He found himself nodding against that warm palm, letting out a stuttered exhale. Derek didn’t move his hand, but he did raise his head to look at Harvey, who’d been watching with barely contained intrigue. _Patient-doctor confidentiality, asshole,_ Shane thought. _Don’t you fuckin’ forget it._ “Harv... think you could, uh... make me one of those lists, too?”

Shane raised his hand to cover the one that held his face, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The doctor kept his lips in their usual casual smile; but his eyes twinkled to show his true mirth. He simply nodded and produced another one from his pocket. _Clever little shit was already prepared,_ he mused internally.

Derek gave Shane one final kiss on the mouth – again, right in front of the goddamn doctor – before he was made to leave while Shane was fitted into scrubs that ZBC required until after the intake process.

The journey was quiet and his stomach was filled with nervous butterflies. But he supposed he’d take butterflies over knots any day.

True to his childhood habit, the gentle bumping of the van lulled him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's gonna be such a good fucking dad if I have anything to say about it.


	20. Bill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex is still going to be a dick for a while longer, I am sorry.

It was Wednesday evening and Shane hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours but Derek missed him terribly. He lamented that visiting hours at the facility were only an hour long. As soon as he got back into town, he wished to go straight to the saloon to try and get his mind off things.

Also, the farmer didn’t know who the hell spilled the beans, but it seemed like every single person in town knew what had happened with Shane. To varying degrees of detail, it seemed, but it was no secret that he had drank himself near to death. The frustrating part about the way it was framed, though, was that everyone seemed to be blaming the alcoholism instead of the depression. For all their annoyingly intrusive way of finding things out, no one knew about the cliffs. No one knew it had been a suicide attempt.

Furthermore, everyone knew Derek had been involved.

In fact, as he approached the town’s sole bar, he bit back a grumble when he spotted Alex by his dog’s pen. He had that stupid gridball in his left hand again and the farmer made the sudden connection between the jock and Shane’s shared interest with an amused grunt. Less amusing, though, was the casually approaching brunette who wore a look on his face that Derek recognized. He wanted dirt. And he’d be damned if Alex came away with any more information than what was already bouncing in that thick skull.

“Hey, farm boy,” he greeted with a signature smirk.

“Derek,” he corrected, curtly.

Alex made a slow nod. “Sure.” The ball was tossed and caught. “So... you and Shane, huh?”

“Me and Shane...” Derek drew out the pause to invite Alex to clarify his so _eloquently_ worded pry.

“C’mon, man. No need to act. Everyone knows,” the jock claimed, confident shoulders shrugging. Derek almost wanted to scoff at how awful the man was at being subtle. He decided to keep goading for the _actual_ question.

“And what is it that they know?” Derek asked flatly, ripping off and refastening one of the Velcro straps on his brace nonchalantly.

Alex clicked his tongue with a frustrated huff. _Someone’s got a short temper_ , the farmer mused. “Look. Everyone knows something happened with Shane and you two talk a lot, right? Folks are just worried.” The jock’s finishing shrug was another pathetic attempt at subtlety. Yoba, it was like his first (tamer) interactions with Shane – just without any of the charm and triple the not-minding-your-own-damn-business.

“Funny how worried folks claim to be when I don’t recall seeing a damn soul trynna get to know him.” Derek seethed at how shallow and fake their ‘care’ was and it didn’t do a damn thing for the man who had suffered right under everyone’s noses for _years_ without so much as a side glance. He had _rot_ in that bar stool, a few conversations away from being reachable enough to at least suspect it wasn’t just alcoholism. Shane had _died_ for the longest twenty-seven seconds of Derek’s life, yet he was meant to believe that _no one_ saw the death that had been festering in his eyes long before his heart caught up?

And what if he’d never moved on the farm in the first place? What if he simply hadn’t been there? What all would their fucking _worry_ do when they would’ve found him? 

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Alex scoffed. “You know that ain’t fair, man. He tells everyone to piss off who gets within a five-foot radius.”

Derek threw his hand up in the air. “You think I don’t know that? You forget how he and I started out?” He stepped a bit closer to the jock. “But the difference is I seem to be the only person who gave enough of a shit to bother searching in that asshole exterior for somethin’ else.” He inhaled deeply before continuing. “And you know _what,_ Alex? I found it real fuckin’ easily. There’s no goddamn excuse.”

Alex let out a sarcastic laugh and crossed his arms with a sneer. He’d dropped the transparent ‘concerned neighbor’ act, it seemed. “I think you’re reading way too far into it, farm boy-“

“ _Derek,_ ” he spat, fist balling.

“Sure. Point is, it’s not that deep. Dude’s just a grumpy alcoholic. We’re all just worried you’re getting yourself into something you won’t be able to get out of. Not everyone has some ‘hidden personality’,” he mocked with air quotes. “Sometimes, assholes are just what they claim to be.” Derek slammed his eyes shut in that instant, knowing that if that egotistical smirk floated in front of him for one more goddamn minute, he was going to knock a permanent divot in that perfect jawline.

His anger issues used to be out of control when he was thirteen or fourteen; puberty sending his temper flares into straight fits that would land him in major trouble. His parents had taken him to anger management therapy to curb the violent outbursts.

Over a decade later, Derek found himself coaxing some of those old techniques from those archaic counseling sessions, as he forced himself to control his breathing and clench and release his fists slowly. When he finally opened his eyes again, Alex had been watching the rage course through him with an apathetic look.

“It’s a wonder how such a sweet woman like Evelyn puts up with you all the time,” he growled. Alex’s expression darkened and he scoffed with an eye roll. Derek took this as an opportune time to get the hell away before fancy breathing didn’t cut it anymore.

“Whatever, Derek,” Alex called after him. “Don’t come crying to us when he breaks your heart or drinks himself into a coffin.”

He’d gotten to the saloon door at that point, hand squeezing the life out of the knob, but still able to see the jock glaring from around the corner. For a split second, the farmer almost wished Alex knew it all – if not just to see guilt eat at him like a colony of feral rats. But that was just the rage talking. Derek fixed him with the most contempt-laced smirk he could scrounge.

“You know what, Alex?” His voice carried a deadly calm. “You should stick to sports,” the farmer commented thoughtfully. Then, he was outright snarling. “Because your brain has atrophied in your _fucking skull_ if you think you have _any_ idea what you’re talking about.” His entire body was trembling with the force of his anger but he pressed on: “’Cause if you did, you’d be just as _disgusted_ with yourself as I am with you. Stay the _hell_ away from both of us.”

And with that, he ripped the door open and prepared to get drunk off his ass.

* * *

It was near closing time and Derek was only mildly drunk, deciding that perhaps a morning hangover wouldn’t mix well with his farm chores. He’d mellowed out enough by now, anyway, the altercation with Alex fading to a brief smear on his day. Gus was bussing tables and when it was just Derek’s table left, he gave the farmer a peculiar look that wasn’t the ‘ _time to go on home, farmer_ ’ one he’d been expecting.

The saloon was empty – he’d sent Emily home a few minutes prior – and the red-head dazedly realized this would be a good time for Gus to corner him into a grilling session if he wanted to. But the look on the rotund man’s face wasn’t a sinister curiosity. It was a deep resignation. Like Derek had just been at the right place and time to catch it.

Derek liked Gus – in fact, Gus was his favorite out of all the business owners (next to Marnie, of course). So seeing him sad made Derek immediately compelled to help, if he could.

“Sorry for keepin’ ya, Gus,” he mumbled gently. “Been a long night.” He gauged if this brought a reaction. It did – he saw those round shoulders sag imperceptibly. The man definitely had something weighing on him.

“No worries,” the older man offered a weak smile. “I am lockin’ her up in a few minutes here, though.” Then, he turned his back to Derek to clean the table he’d already finished moments ago. The farmer took that as an in. He stood up and strolled over until Gus stood up straight to acknowledge they were sharing the same space now.

“Something’s eatin’ at you. I can tell,” he said bluntly. Honest people loved directness, he’d found over the years, and the older man was as honest as they come. “Everything alright?” The barkeep set the cleaning supplies down and seemed to contemplate if he really wanted to open up or not. But the man was already a bit of an open book, Derek surmised, so he doubted Gus’s ability to be truly reserved.

Derek listened as he let out a deep sigh, dropping his gaze and crossing his arms loosely. “I’ve been runnin’ this saloon for two decades now, farmer.” His brows furrowed, troubled. “You get to really know your townsfolk. So, I hear a lotta things.” Yoba, had he just walked himself into a Shane conversation? He sorely hoped not. “But I keep to myself. Bad business for me to go running my mouth ‘bout my clientele.” Derek nodded slowly, still praying this were going in a different direction than anticipated. “But that don’t mean I don’t _see_ , son. It gets hard to ignore. Especially when you gotta see someone bein’ mistreated over and over.” _Oh, Yoba, please. Not this. Don’t tell me Gus is about to try and tell me how I should be feeling about Shane, too._ When he spoke again, it was only a soft murmur – like an afterthought. “She’s just such a beautiful woman. Doesn’t deserve that.” Derek bit back a sigh of relief. _Wait, what?_ he thought. But it wasn’t his place to ask. Maybe, he could offer some advice, though.

“Well... if you genuinely care about her.” _And not Alex’s JojaCorp-brand of care,_ he noted. “Maybe just try talkin’ to her? Be her friend, let her confide in you. Be there for her, y’know? You're a natural at comfort. And if she knows you at all, she'd agree. Just gotta try.” Gus nodded with a soft smile.

“It’s been heartbreaking to sit on the sidelines for so long,” the older man admitted. “I think you’re right. Thank you, Derek.” The farmer clapped him on the shoulder affectionately with a grin.

“You got a heart of gold, Gus. Don’t you forget it. Take care, now.”

“Get home safe, son.”

**Shane**

Friday had finally come – his discharge date. He couldn’t lie and say the stay had been _enjoyable,_ per se, but he did like not having to wake up early for JojaMart. These past few days, he’d been waking up early for vitals instead. The first day, he’d had back-to-back panic attacks because even though it didn’t look _exactly_ like the regular type of hospital he’d been confined to after the injury, it was still _a_ hospital and he was fucking _trapped_ in it again. But the techs and nurses were usually pretty patient with him, offering him a sedative that he took twice that day.

The psychiatrist and therapist on his case were friendly enough as well, but the sessions were brief and cut-throat, trying to tackle the bigger problems – as in the whole dying thing – in the small window of time they had. Shane hadn’t gotten much use out of it except for one suggestion from the therapist. She had asked if maybe he could see himself trading beer for sparkling water or soda. Said the carbonation might provide the familiar feeling down his throat when he got cravings.

Speaking of cravings, day number two was spent sweating through the bed in his assigned room. He was grateful the designated roommate – Gary? Greg? – was courteous enough to keep himself scarce and noiseless. He made several dashes to the bathroom to vomit and the shakes didn’t subside until Friday morning. Even now, in the mottled green chair of the group room, he was sweating like a stuck pig.

What he hated the most was how much he was expected to _talk_ in the stupid little group meetings they had multiple times a day. He tried to duck out of it, at first, but then they’d threatened to keep him longer. So every fucking day, he retold that Sunday in vague detail and got away with less than five sentences, usually. Others rambled on for what seemed hours and hours, making Shane stare at the ceiling and wonder who the hell had the bright idea that this was helpful at all.

Marnie, Jas, and Derek had visited on Wednesday and Thursday, a tech directing the trio into his room where he’d so far only been able to give them weak, nauseated looks. Jas was concerned but he assured her that he was just homesick and she smiled, knowing that feeling all too well – if any countless late night trips to pick up his terrified kid from Jodi’s place were any indication. They were coming back for today’s visitation, too. Only they wouldn’t be leaving without him this time, thankfully.

He was torn from his thoughts by a body sinking into the chair next to him. Between the PTSD (at least that’s what the psychiatrist had called it; Shane just called it cowardice) and the withdrawals, he hadn’t talked to any of the other patients on the wing. Not that he wanted to, really. Wasn’t like he was here to make connections.

The man who’d sat beside him was tall and thin, looked to be in his sixties with a full head of stark white hair. The only reason Shane bothered to give the guy a second glance was because his eyes were almost the same shade of blue as Derek’s and he could tolerate that. He looked like he were trying to smile at Shane but was too tired to manage it, before he stuck out a large, bony hand.

“Bill,” he said simply. Usually, he’d announce to strangers that his first name was Fuck, last name Off; but, again, it wasn’t like he was staying here long. Was there a point in being crass to people who were trying to heal just like he was? Besides, he could relate to that exhaustion.

“’M Shane,” he replied, giving the hand a single bounce. He noticed the older man was still in scrubs. “You just get here?” Bill nodded.

“This time ‘round, at least.” Shane tried not to cringe at that. People had to _keep_ coming back here? Seemed like it defeat the purpose of helping if whatever “help” obviously didn’t stick. “You?”

He shook his head. “Got here Tuesday night. First time.” He averted his gaze, then. “And last, hopefully,” he grumbled.

Bill chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.” Then, he faltered a minute. “Er- well- perhaps not anymore.”

Shane snorted in amusement. “Maybe try sparkling water,” he quoted sarcastically. This made Bill _actually_ smile and something inside Shane warmed a bit. When was the last time he’d been able to make a stranger smile instead of scowl? He could admit it was a nice change of pace. Then again, he might not have cared if not for the comfort of not ever having to see Bill again after today.

“Cherry flavor’s the only good one,” he advised Shane. “Everything else tastes like bubbly dishwater.”

“Noted,” he chortled. “Thanks.”

It was perhaps the most useful thing he’d learned from the entire visit.

* * *

Derek picked him up from ZBC in Marnie’s old truck. He’d called Shane before he’d left to let him know he’d be coming alone. Apparently his aunt and goddaughter were still setting up for his return. At this point, Shane wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass if Yoba himself descended from the sky to buzz him out. He’d already gathered his things and his leg was bouncing anxiously, waiting for the familiar head of red curls to be escorted to the group room where he was waiting. He would’ve waited in the solitude of his room but that was down the hall and significantly farther from the locked entry doors.

Luckily, it was currently free time, according to the rigid schedule they’d all been tied to. They’d just gotten back from dinner in the hospital cafeteria – spaghetti, greens, and garlic bread. Shane had to admit that this facility’s food was far better than Zuzu General Hospital’s. Most of the other patients were in their rooms, save for the two drawing at a table on the right side of the room and the girl who was quietly talking on one of the two black hospital landlines they had access to.

Bill had left after group earlier – where Shane had learned he was a recent widower after losing his husband to a sudden heart attack, which resulted in his alcoholism reaching a crescendo that kept him spiraling right back into mottled green chairs. Shane realized it was the only story he’d cared to listen to, let alone remember. He supposed it was nice to have a tad of secret solidarity in such an unfamiliar place.

Just then, his favorite farmer’s voice drifted over and his head shot up to where he’d been cradling a handful of crayons Jas had sent with him. He stood and slipped the crayons into his pocket before picking up his gym bag of belongings. The tech at the front counter pointed in the direction of the group room and their eyes met, matching smiles exchanging a greeting.

“All set?” Derek asked once they’d closed the distance between each other. Shane gave him a quick kiss on the forehead – unbothered by the prospect of being seen by faces he wouldn’t remember. They were walking out hand-in-hand when Shane spotted Bill. Okay, _one_ face he would remember. The old man took in their linked hands and smiled warmly, giving Shane a farewell nod that was returned in kind.

When they got outside, Shane couldn’t stand it anymore. He dropped his gym bag without a second thought and pressed Derek up against the passenger side door, kissing him firmly and running his hands through those soft curls. It deepened quickly and lasted until they were out of breath and blushing like crazy.

“Hurry up and get me home,” Shane husked. “I have to get to Pierre’s before he closes.” Derek chuckled and rolled his eyes affectionately.

“It’s already six thirty, idiot.”

“Then, I’ll break in,” Shane growled playfully. They kissed again, then, laughing into each other’s mouths like giddy children. It was the first time in years that Shane felt so _free._ He knew they still had a long ways to go; but the funny part about learning to plan for the future was that sometimes you also just had to take it day by day. And he could do that, he convinced himself.

The anti-depressant they’d put him on didn’t seem to do much more than make his mouth dry sometimes, but right now he felt the darkness was at bay for long enough to admit that he was insanely in love with the man in his arms.

Not only that, but he vowed never to have to come back to this place.

During the car ride home, before he fell asleep with Derek singing along to the radio, he sent a singular wish into the universe. He wished it would be Bill’s last needed visit, too.

* * *

When they got back to the ranch, Derek parked and cut the engine, turning to Shane. He was framed by the setting sun from behind. It was a stunning sight and Shane gave him a sleepy smile.

“Wait, isn’t it pool night?” Shane asked suddenly.

“Oh- well, yeah... but I told them I was picking you up.” Then, Derek was shaking his head and waving his hand as Shane made a face. “N- I didn’t say _where from,_ specifically. I mean, everyone knows you were in the hospital. Just not... which one...” He felt his face paling at the farmer’s words.

“How much do people know?” he whispered. Derek sighed.

“I... I think people just think you... drank too much. Maybe some of ‘em think you went to AA.” The farmer gripped the wheel in anger. “I don’t even know _why_ people have to be so goddamn _nosy._ They’ve been trynna milk me for information, too,” he grit out through his teeth. “I guess someone saw me in the clinic with you on Sunday or somethin’.”

“You haven’t said anything to anyone, have you?” Shane blurted. Derek gave him an offended look and Shane cringed in embarrassment. “Sorry- it’s just...” He bent in half, tugging at his purple hair with his hands in frustration. “Gah! How the fuck am I supposed to go into town, now?” His voice rose in pitch slightly and he wondered if the anti-depressant had a secret side effect of making his anxiety worse. “’M just the grimy town drunk who got too carried away again, huh?” he muttered darkly.

He felt Derek’s hand pulling his own from his hair before smoothing down the rumples he’d made in the locks. “Shane, look at me.” He did. “I know you can’t simply _ignore_ it. But you _can_ realize that none of what they say matters. No one knows what the fuck you’ve been through and they have no room to give you shit for anything, okay?” Shane grunted, his anxieties not ebbing. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to avoid prying questions? “Look, you haven’t even been home half an hour and you’re already worryin’ yourself sick. Marnie’s made dinner-“

“Already had dinner at the hospital,” Shane cut in. Derek didn’t deserve his grumpiness but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d loosely committed to keeping himself alive _._ Alive meant living in the community he’d tried so hard to keep at arm’s length. And when he’d made this commitment, he hadn’t thought about having to deal with facing the townspeople. The townspeople who largely only held something between polite disdain and downright contempt for him. He was fucking _terrified._

He hadn’t even realized he was tugging at his hair again until he heard the driver’s side door open and slam shut. Shane squeezed his eyes shut in guilt, hurt because it hadn’t even been half an hour since he’d gotten home and he was already _ruining_ it. He was already _losing_ it.

Then, his door opened and the truck rocked as someone hoisted themselves onto the step outside the car door and then Derek’s cologne filled his nose as that right arm wrapped around his midsection and held him tight.

“You’ve fuckin’ _got_ this, Shane. We’ll get through this. Every single one of us. Marnie is staying, Jas is staying, I’m _staying._ ” Derek slid back a bit, balancing on that narrow step. “Look at me.” As always, Shane did. The farmer cupped his cheek and Shane swallowed nervously; his blue eyes were so easy to get lost in. And they were filled with the same anxiety that he felt and if the eyes were green, he would’ve sworn he were looking into a mirror. “I mean it. I’m here for you. Always. You don’t have to explain yourself to a single damn person, either. Your story is yours to share and if they’re even half-decent, they’d better respect that.” After a while, Shane nodded and they both hopped out of the truck.

“What’d I do to deserve you?” Shane mumbled with a sad smile.

Derek snorted with a playful eye roll, wrapping his right arm around Shane’s neck. “Rub any funky lamps lately?” He teased. “Maybe throw some pocket change down a well?”

Shane made a soft _‘pfft’_ sound with his lips before suddenly yanking the farmer tightly against his front by the waist, making Derek let out a small gasp before arching an eyebrow. He crashed their lips together for the second time that day - mere feet from the ranch but he didn’t care. It was hungrily sloppy and uncoordinated but when Shane captured Derek’s full, bottom lip between his teeth, the man made a low keening noise that had them stepping back with matching red faces.

“What’s with you always trynna rile me up before I gotta eat dinner with your fuckin’ family?”

That made Shane laugh loudly for the first time since they’d gotten home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had plans for Gus and I Do Not Know how it will be received but... hopefully people will like it? (':


	21. The 'Boyfriend' Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was genuinely one of the most fun to write.

Shane slept in until eleven the next morning, having gotten a long night’s rest after finally being back at the ranch in his own bed. Last night’s dinner had gone relatively normally, with Derek leaving soon after to catch up on farm chores. He couldn’t deny he’d felt a bit lonely once the farmer left.

He’d hung out with Marnie and Jas before he’d tucked the latter into bed. She’d tacked on ‘dad’ at the end of her ‘goodnight’ and it’d helped with the anxiety and fear that was festering in his stomach. Then, he’d wished Marnie a goodnight himself before playing video games in his room.

When Shane woke up to late afternoon sun filtering through his blinds, he sat up with a yawn and saw his phone on his nightstand was fully charged. Ripping it off the cable, he smiled at the screen when it told him Derek had texted him earlier that morning.

**8:01AM**  
**Red**  
T-minus one hour until I have two arms again  
  
So fuckin ready for this to be offff  
  
**9:38AM**  
okay so you can’t laugh  
  
**10:17AM**  
Text me when you wake up, sleeping beauty  
  
**11:05AM**  
 **Shane**  
m awake  
  
why would I laugh?  


Shane stood and stretched upward, groaning and trying to get the sleep from his muscles. Marnie had done his laundry while he was in the hospital and he was eternally grateful – and a bit embarrassed – as he grabbed a fresh, black t-shirt and some cargo shorts.

He took his time in the shower, enjoying having his personal toiletries back and not the neutral-smelling ones he’d been having to work with for the past few days. He also took the time to clean up his stubble, focusing on just the hairs rather than his face as a whole. Maybe he could work up to it.

When he was done dressing, he stepped out and checked his phone to see another text from the farmer.

**11:51AM**  
**Red**  
Damn you must’ve slept like a baby  
  
You’ll see when you come over  
  
If you’re coming over...?  
  
**11:56AM**  
 **Shane**  
yeah uh that’d be nice  
  
what time?  
  
**11:57AM**  
**Red**  
Now o’clock?  


Shane didn’t realize he’d paused in the hallway to smile stupidly at his phone, damp hair hanging in front of his face. He snorted at the last message and shook his head as he typed.

**11:57AM**  
 **Shane**  
gotta run a couple errands first  
  
be there in 45 or so  


A voice clearing in front of him made him jerk his head up. Marnie stood there with a sly smile and he felt an embarrassed blush rise to his cheeks.

Before she could ask questions: “Gotta go to Pierre’s. I’ll be back some time later today.”

“You should eat some lunch first,” his aunt pointed out. “I reheated some pot roast.” Shane made a face at this.

“Since when do you make _pot roast_?” Marnie’s face turned pink, then, and he regretted asking.

“Well... Lewis made it for us Thursday night. It’s quite good! You should try some.”

“I’m not... really hungry. Sorry, Marn.” He wasn’t in the mood to be reminded of the bastard mayor right now. Shane could barely contain himself when it came to how he treated his aunt but she had convinced herself he’d come around. He never did.

“But-“

“I’ll be _fine._ Love you,” he shot her some attempt at a smile and he saw her sigh affectionally with a shake of her head before he dashed out into the warm, summer air.

Going into town on a late Saturday morning was _asking_ to run into people; but he was on a mission. Maybe if he kept his head low, he’d be fine. As he emerged from the woods onto Jodi and Emily’s street, he already saw people sitting on benches nearby, talking and laughing. Shane kept his eyes downcast, shoving his hands in his pockets and blowing at a stray purple lock that had fallen over his face.

His sneakers clomped on the stone as he made his way over to Pierre’s General Store. And he was _almost_ there when:

_“Dad!”_

Shane turned, raising his head for the first time since he’d left the ranch, and saw Jas breaking free from where she’d been playing with Vincent in Lewis’s garden – with the sonofabitch himself chaperoning – and running over to him. He felt anxiety bubble in his stomach as he idly noticed how many heads had turned toward the noise and were now looking at him.

But Shane forced himself to remember Derek’s words from the truck yesterday. It didn’t matter what anyone thought, right? So, when Jas finished sprinting away the distance between them, he made no hesitation in stooping slightly – left knee be damned – to scoop her up with the faintest smile. 

“What’cha up to, squirt?” he asked, tapping the tip of her nose affectionately with his left finger as he balanced her on his right hip. She crinkled her face in response and stuck her tongue out at him, widening his smile a bit.

“You were sleeping for, like, a whole year!” she exclaimed. “Aunt Marnie said it’s just ‘cause it takes a lot of energy to get better. Like when Vincent gave me the flu,” she recalled, a slight look of disgust gracing her face at the memory. Shane felt eyes on them but forced himself to refocus back on the purple eyes of his daughter.

Wait, was she his daughter now? She called him dad now so it was kind of fair, right? Fuck, he was so garbage at this. His thoughts got a shade darker for a split second as he was left to wonder how Josh and Jillian would feel if they saw him fresh out of the looney bin, laying claim on their kid. _Focus, damn it,_ he chastised himself.

He hummed affirmatively at her. “Also just missed being home,” he said softly, giving her a brief squeeze. Then, he remembered where she’d just been and he felt a flash of protective curiosity course through him. “What have you and Vincent gotten yourselves into today, hm?” Jas turned in his arms, pointing behind her to where the little boy had resumed using a trowel to clumsily pat down soil around a budding flower.

“Mayor Lewis said he would teach us how to garden!” she relayed with excitement. Then, she made a serious face and dropped her voice comically low in an impression of said man: “’There just simply ain’t enough of you young’uns willing to get your hands dirty’,” she finished quoting with a sharp giggle. “Come see what I planted!” Shane instantly disliked that idea. He jerked his head towards Pierre’s.

“I gotta grab some-“

But she cut him off with a whine. “ _Please?_ ” she begged. “It’ll be quick, I promise!” He sighed heavily but there was no way Shane was going to make her _plead_ for his damn attention. He was her dad now and sometimes dads sucked it up around the kids. At least, the ones who didn’t throw you out on the streets before you could walk right on your own. The bitter flash of memory cemented his goal – he’d be everything for Jas that his father wasn’t for him.

He gave her a weak smile. “Okay, okay, don’t go pullin’ the puppy dog eyes out on me.” Shane lowered her to the ground and nodded in the direction of the mayor’s house as he straightened up. “Lead the way, little lady.”

She beamed at him and grabbed his hand, walking them over to Lewis, who was looking with poorly masked surprise that the little girl had gotten the town disappointment to come look at _flowers._

Shane also noticed with an awkward and unsettling feeling that Penny and Maru were still sat on the bench, whispering to each other before the schoolteacher gave him a chance look over her shoulder.

He pretended he didn’t see. All he let himself focus on was the adorable kid tugging earnestly at his hand. Before he knew it, she’d led him to a flowerbed that had various blooms growing confidently from the dirt. Shane felt a sense of pride in the way she had arranged the plants so well, giving each one enough room to grow and patting the soil just softly enough to give them space to breathe.

She began pointing them out one by one to him, listing off their names and even an occasional factoid. He had no clue about flowers but he nodded and couldn’t help but smile at just how smart she was.

“Shane,” a low voice said from behind. “Nice to see you’re back.” He turned to face Lewis who held a cautious but amicable look in his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, breaking the eye contact to watch Jas pick up her purple watering can – where’d she get that; it looked new – and began sprinkling her plants.

“Er, yeah.” Shane figured he didn’t care to give the mayor much more than that. But the man was determined to try the friendly shtick.

“You’re feeling better, I take it?” It was awfully presumptuous but undoubtedly true. Shane nodded simply. “Good, good. I like to hear it. Hate seeing one of our own having a rough time.” Shane looked at him again when he said that last bit. _How much did he know?_ he pondered. Marnie surely wouldn’t have spilled Shane’s beans just because this old fart bag was keeping her warm at night, right?

Then, he felt guilty for thinking of Marnie that way. Shane had to remind himself that all of his bitterness on the situation fell on the coward standing behind him and not his too-kind aunt who didn’t know how she should be treated.

“’M sure you do,” he replied, a bit gruff. The mayor’s eyes lost a bit of their amicability at that; but it was fine because Jas had just finished watering and was giving him her attention again. Then, she gasped in delight.

“You _shaved_!” She pointed at his face in excitement. Oh, she hadn’t played this game with him in a while and he immediately stopped bristling at Lewis. “You know what that means!” she sing-songed.

Shane chuckled and acted his part. “Do I? I don’t think I remember...” he drawled, squatting to her level preemptively with only a minor creak from his knee.

“It means you get one”—she held up a single finger for emphasis—“kiss on the cheek,” she announced confidently. Then, she stepped forward and pecked him square on the jaw, giggling with joy as he brushed a lock of black hair behind her ear affectionately. When he stood, he felt Lewis watching and tried not to let it make him feel uncomfortable.

“All right, kiddo,” he said with a tone of finality. “I gotta run some errands, okay? Remember to play nice.” He waited for her to nod and began to make his leave when he turned back to her for a moment. “Oh, and uh...” Jas looked up at him again when he spoke. “Be good for Mr. Purple Shorts over here.” Then, he ducked out of the yard quickly, leaving a stunned mayor in his wake and biting back a laugh so hard he was afraid he might draw blood from his bottom lip.

Shane rushed into Pierre’s, smiling faintly to himself as he pictured Derek’s reaction to that split-second quip.

“Hey, you’re back!” He almost didn’t address the noise, having gotten so used to people only talking to him with frustration or disapproval in their voices. But who else in town had just “come back” from somewhere? Shane saw Abigail smiling lazily at him. “ _Finally,_ ” she groaned. He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Sam hasn’t stopped whining about your asshole Joja boss giving him more hours.” She rolled her eyes playfully and Shane found he was starting to like her the best out of Derek’s friends. Something about her blunt yet equally amusing observations made him see why she and Derek had gotten along so quickly.

He gave a small shrug. “Sorry to disappoint but I’m not cleared to go back until next Monday.” Technically, the one week mark was Friday but he absolutely refused to return on a fucking Saturday. Abigail groaned again, tipping her head back dramatically and crossing her arms.

“For real, though,” she mused. “We’re glad to see you back.” He couldn’t help but give a small scoff as a few disagreeing faces popped into his mind – one in particular with dark hair and monochrome clothing.

“Yeah? You and what army?”

She hummed, squinting her eyes at him momentarily as if she’d just pieced something together. “Derek was right,” she teased. “You are kind of an idiot.” He choked as she beamed and whipped behind the counter. Shane would usually be seething at this comment but the way she’d said it so flippantly and with no malice whatsoever made him genuinely laugh for the first time that day. “So what can I get ya? Dad’s on lunch so I’m ‘holding down the fort’,” she mocked with air quotes and another eye roll.

“Uh...” _Shit,_ he thought. Actually, this was going to be a bit uncomfortable. Had Derek told Abigail about them? He shook his head in an attempt to gather himself. It was no use stalling any longer – between Jas and this, it was probably already forty-five minutes past when he’d texted Derek. “Sparkling water. Cherry flavor... _andabouquet,_ ” he rushed the last words, blushing. Abigail caught what he’d said easily and her smile got even wider.

“ _Fuck yes!_ Shane you’ve made me the happiest girl in the world today.” He gave her a bewildered look as she rung him out. “Sam owes me twenty bucks now.” His confusion turned to shock and he probably would’ve been offended that people were already placing bets on his and the farmer’s relationship but it honestly felt a bit good to have his name pop up in town romance gossip. He’d let it slide this time.

As she bagged his items – he asked for a more opaque bag for the flowers because he really didn’t need more curious stares – Shane pulled out his phone and nearly choked when he saw the time: 1:02PM. It’d been just over an hour since he’d texted the red-head.

“ _Shit!_ ” he cursed, causing the purple-haired girl to look up in mild curiosity. “I’m late.”

She giggled, handing him the two bags. “Go,” she shooed her hands at him. “Go be gay.” He shot her a glare for that one but his cheeks betrayed his mirth. As soon as he stepped out of the store, he checked his messages.

**1:05PM**  
 **Shane**  
sorry, got roped into botany 101 with my kid  
  
omw  


Then, he hurried toward the dusty dirt trail towards the farmhouse.

* * *

Standing in front of Derek’s door and admittedly breathing a bit heavy, he gave the wood a pair of tentative knocks.

“If it’s Shane, come in!” A familiar voice called from inside. He felt his chest warm inexplicably and he was grinning as he walked in. Then, he stopped in his tracks as he realized multiple things at once.

First, Derek was _cooking_ in a _kitchen._ The smell of whatever it was made his mouth water and his eyes roamed around the rest of the house to see the farmer had gotten himself a proper expansion. There was a distinct bedroom now, along with the living room and the kitchen. The bathroom stayed jutting off from the living room where it usually was; but through the cracked door he could just barely see a hint of more walking space in there.

Then, he noticed something that shocked him deeply. Derek was not only using two arms freely but he was also wearing a _t-shirt._ The black t-shirt he’d loaned to Shane all those weeks ago, in fact. The farmer turned around and caught him staring at his change of attire and Shane quickly blurted out: “We’re matching.” He pinched the fabric of his own top, trying not to think about how he’d never seen the man’s forearms uncovered for this long. Shane also tried to keep his eyes from trailing over the numerous scars that stood out against the skin.

“We sure are,” Derek mused. Then, he stuffed his left arm behind his back, biting his lip nervously. “Okay, so... like I said... you can’t laugh,” he chuckled uneasily.

Shane shook his head instantly. Why would he laugh at something like that? “N-no, no! I’d never laugh. Look, I’m... flattered that you feel like you can, uh... you know... wear short sleeves around me.” The farmer’s face twisted in confusion for a moment before softening into something tender and unexpectedly pleased.

“Oh!” Derek said softly. “I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout that bit but- no, yeah- I mean... like I’ve always said,” he was approaching slowly, a gentle smile on his face. “I trust you.” Shane blushed at having jumped to conclusions but Derek was quick to stifle the embarrassment with a quick peck on the lips. “What I have to show you is a bit more laughable but-“ he wagged his finger at Shane. “You’re not allowed to laugh!”

He chuckled at the red-head, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! No laughing, I got it.”

Derek sighed bashfully before rolling up his sleeves all the way beyond his shoulders. “So, while I’ve been in arm jail, my right guy’s been doin’ all the work, right?” Shane nodded, amused at the small innuendo at the end of that sentence that probably only his monkey brain noticed. “Well, what I didn’t realize...” Derek bit his lip, trying to contain an embarrassed smile. “Was that while my right arm was gettin’ strong as fuck, my left one was... well, let me show you.” Then, the farmer flexed both arms and Shane immediately had to whip around if he were going to keep his vow of not laughing.

His right arm had immediately corded with the – admittedly hot – muscles that had been formed from the hard labor he’d been doing day in and day out. Derek’s skin was tan, too, stretching across the bulk of definition.

Meanwhile, his left arm remained skinny and significantly paler up close, muscles barely twitching.

“Oh, _Yoba,_ ” Shane whispered, as he harshly bit his lip to keep the amusement in. “We’re gonna have to start calling you Nemo now.”

Derek thumped him on the back of the head.

Shane spun around, eyes playful. “Hey! You said no laughing. Nothing in the rules ‘bout teasing.”

The farmer laughed so hard he doubled over and that was when Shane lost his shit, too. After they’d calmed down a bit, Derek shoved him lightly.

“You _ever_ dare call me that and I’ll have Marnie whip out the baby photos. No way that woman doesn’t have any,” the red-head threatened. Shane gulped nervously – because yes, yes she did, in fact. He shook his head rapidly, drawing another small laugh from Derek. “That’s what I thought.” Then he looked at the bags in Shane’s hand. “What did you get?”

_Oh._ Well, he hadn’t actually thought about how to execute this part. “Uh... sparkling water and... turn around?” Derek snorted in confusion when Shane’s last word came out as more of a question.

“Wha-“

“Turn around,” Shane said urgently, gesturing with a twirl of his finger. When Derek obeyed, he pulled the bouquet from the bag. He hadn’t gotten a great look at it earlier, being anxious and all. Now, he realized how kind of beautiful it was. There were yellow flowers in the middle that slowly spun outwards into pink and then red. The paper they were wrapped in crinkled as he gripped the bundle and he swallowed nervously. “O-Okay, turn.”

When Derek turned back to face him, his eyes lit up and he smiled so wide that his jaw dropped. It made Shane feel giddy and warm. “Holy shit, you actually got them!” Shane scoffed with an amused look.

“’Course I did. Said I was goin’ to, didn’t I?” The farmer nodded and took the bouquet, blushing and grinning from ear to ear. Then, he took a deep sniff and hummed appreciatively.

“These are gorgeous. What kind are they?”

Shane chortled. “Fuck if I know.” Derek laughed loud and low again and Shane really couldn’t get enough of it.

“Guess someone should’ve paid more attention in Botany 101.”

“I would’ve but...” Shane stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist. “I guess I was too distracted thinkin’ about how I supposed to ask out this really handsome guy today,” he said coyly. He wasn’t usually bold at all, but Derek’s gushing demeanor made it so easy to fall into a confidence that made him feel sure enough of himself to pull the red-head against him, leaving enough space for the bouquet between their torsos.

Derek hummed playfully. “Oh, man, that _does_ sound distracting,” he said slowly. “You think he’ll say yes?”

Shane nodded sagely. “Yeah, he’s kinda all over me.” That earned him a swat on the shoulder. “Wow, yeah- we’re gonna have to work on getting some strength into that arm,” he teased.

“You’re such an _asshole,_ ” Derek snorted.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you gonna say yes?”

The farmer looked upward and to the left, miming deep thought. “Hmm, you make fun of my arm, basically call me _desperate_ ”—Derek interrupted himself with a giggle—“then ask me if I want to _date_ your rude ass?” If it weren’t for the unbridled joy dancing in those blue eyes, Shane might’ve thought he were seriously offended for a moment.

“Abigail rung me out,” Shane suddenly blurted. It was the right thing to point out, as Derek’s jaw dropped in amazement that he’d still gone through with it despite being exposed by the farmer’s friend, no less.

“Guess I’m gonna start usin’ the ‘boyfriend’ word now,” the farmer sighed thoughtfully.

“Hopefully only with _me_ ,” Shane narrowed his eyes jokingly.

Derek’s face softened into something more serious, then, and he quickly broke from the other man’s arms to set the bouquet on the table before returning and wrapping himself around Shane’s neck. It was the first time he’d felt both arms around him and it felt _so nice._ It felt like home – like a feeling he could easily slide into without hesitation. Shane returned his hold around the red-head’s waist and both men saw the moment that it hit them – that this was so much more _intimate_ without bulky casts or slings or braces blocking them.

They pulled flush against one another and the hold morphed into an embrace. Shane slid one arm to curl upwards across Derek’s back, melting their bodies together. Meanwhile, a warm hand cradled the entire back of Shane’s head and held it to the crook of the farmer’s neck, whose face had ended up in an identical spot on him. It was almost strange how they both kept getting a fleeting, nagging feeling that their hug was being limited by some barrier that they needed to be wary of – before they’d realize that it was a lingering instinct from the cast and they’d squeeze each other tighter, reminding themselves of the full contact. Not even the sling trick could compare.

“I’ll only ever wanna use it with you, Shane,” Derek whispered against his neck. The warm breath made a pleasant shiver run up his spine and he instinctively squeezed the farmer again, briefly.

“Yeah, me, too,” he responded, simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is gonna get (; (;  
> Y'know.  
> Also, after having to write a character in a cast/sling/brace for 18 chapters, I have decided that I will *never* be doing that shit again.  
> The amount of times I had to correct to "right hand/arm" during proofreads... no more broken bones.  
> Whew! Freedom.


	22. The Other Side of Your Face*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: This chapter contains some of that sexual content the tags were talking about. It's really REALLY explicit but I've seen worse on this website, okay?
> 
> Also, I hate how my smut turns out but! Regardless. Maybe I'll get better at it over time.

As it turned out, Derek had cooked the same pepper poppers he’d made for Shane’s birthday in spring. The thought of how that day ended him cringe slightly, a pang of regret coursing through him at how he’d treated the farmer. But then he eyed the arrangement of flowers nestled into an old vase Derek had found in his grandfather’s storage closet; and he let himself be amazed at how far they’d progressed.

He still wasn’t fully convinced he deserved Derek; but he kept reminding himself that it hurt less to reluctantly believe the man instead of letting his depressive thoughts suffocate him.

Shane bit into another pepper and moaned slightly because it was that damn _good._ He thought he saw the farmer’s face go pinker for a moment at the noise but his depression won that battle, convincing him it was a trick of the light or a consequence of the spice.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Shane asked. “And when’d you get a freaking _kitchen?_ ” Derek chuckled slightly, finishing his bite.

“I paid Robin to expand the house on Monday.” _When I was still comatose,_ Shane realized with an uneasy feeling. “She just finished yesterday evening, actually. Probably while I was on my way to pick you up,” he shrugged. Derek took another bite and seemed to chew it more slowly before doubling back to the first question he’d been asked. “And, uh... my mom was a professional chef,” he mumbled with a sad smile. “Taught me a lot. Maybe wanted me to follow in her footsteps, I dunno.”

Shane wasn’t good at difficult conversations, as he was sorely reminded nearly every damn day. Especially when those conversations revolved around _grief;_ a pesky emotion he’d always preferred to bury instead of face. “Well, uh...” he cleared his throat awkwardly, willing his voice to quit wavering. “You must’ve been an A+ student,” he offered lamely, gesturing at his empty plate. It was a stupid thing to say and he was _stupid_ but then Derek’s sad smile morphed into a flattered and bashful grin that made Shane wonder if intelligence really had anything to do with it.

“It’s a wonder I ever feel nervous tellin’ you ‘bout things.” The farmer was looking at him with fond eyes. “You’re so easy to talk to.” Shane let out a small huff of disbelief. “Oh, don’t give me that. You _are._ ” Derek broke eye contact to look at his empty plate. “Lotta people just kind of pity you when you tell ‘em shit like that.” Shane knew that all too well. “Not you, though,” he continued, thoughtfully. “Not you... because you know what it’s like.” Derek shrugged. “So you know hollow apologies don’t do a damn thing.”

And it tugged that pesky grief emotion from the depths of his brain when he heard that – because he _did_ know what it’s like. Shane’s mind began to fill with snippets of flashbacks, just random assortments of sight and sound and emotion.

_Jas, just a toddler, asleep on the couch as movie credits rolled._

_Brisk pounding on the door that made him curse at whoever was about to wake up the kid._

_Police officers. A pair of them. Matching sullen expressions._

_Confusion._

_Anger._

_Disbelief._

_Fear._

_Grief._

_A small girl suddenly appearing behind him to clutch at his legs with one hand as the other one made a small fist to rub the sleep from her eyes._

_‘We are deeply sorry for your loss, sir.’_

“Yeah,” Shane whispered with a shaky exhale. “I know.” He felt tears burning in his eyes and blinked in frustration, trying to keep them from the light of day. Then, Derek’s warm hand was crawling into his and the attempt to cover the anguish was futile as the tears came anyway.

“It hurts, Shane,” his boyfriend whispered. “Still.”

“ _Yeah._ ”

**Derek**

They’d sat in heavy silence for a while, lost in separate worlds that were tenderly linked between palms. Finally, Derek had gotten up and washed their dishes, feeling frustratingly empty despite all the good that had happened so far.

It was always a fucked up game of Russian Roulette whenever he was careless enough to mention his parents beyond the usual ‘ _yes, I’m using past tense because that’s where they live now_ ’. Sometimes, he would just feel the familiar ache afterwards – a tight knot that he couldn’t work out. Other times, like right now, he would just feel void.

“When do you have to go home?” He hated how hollow his voice came out but he didn’t know if he could’ve helped it. Derek heard a chair scrape against the floor as Shane stood.

“Uh, well.... no set time, really.” Then, in a more hurried voice: “I-If you need me to go I totally get-“

“No, no.” Again, flat. Lifeless. Derek hated himself in this moment. He sighed and turned to face Shane, who was fidgeting uncomfortably with a placemat. “Sorry I’m being weird... look, do you wanna maybe watch a movie? Maybe something... light-hearted?”

“Not weird,” came the soft grumble. “And, um... yeah, sure. I like movies.” Derek tried for a smile but he doubt it really moved his lips at all. The pair silently made their way to the living room where the farmer turned on the television. He’d recently invested in a cable package and a subscription to a movie streaming service, which he quickly opened and began scrolling through.

The tension between them was awkward and Derek wanted to strangle it with his bare hands.

“Oh, _shit!_ ” Shane said with a sudden note of shocked excitement. “They have _Scary Movie_ on here?!” The red-head searched for the odd title, finding the movie’s thumbnail that had been close to disappearing from his scrolling.

“’S it good?” he asked as he thumbed the remote buttons to get back up to it.

“Yeah, yeah!” Shane sat up taller, a smile curving his lips. “It’s a horror comedy. It makes fun of all the bullshit horror tropes.” The man shook his head with a wistful chuckle. “Josh and I must’ve watched the entire series at least fifty times. Made us laugh so fuckin’ hard.”

Derek was sold on the idea but he shifted awkwardly for a moment. “You sure you’d be like... good to watch it again, then? You know... if it reminds you so much of...” He twirled the hand holding the remote in a circle gesture as he trailed off, willing Shane to fill in the blanks.

His boyfriend sighed, leaning back against the couch thoughtfully before he shrugged. “I mean... I really do miss it. Kinda wonder if it’d still make me laugh.”

Derek could work with that. He selected it and, as the all of the introduction junk started, they both found themselves looking at each other. They instantly knew they didn’t want to sit on separate cushions during an entire film but they didn’t know what to do about it. Even in making it official, Derek found himself shy for some peculiar reason. Realizing he was being ridiculous about this – and also desperately hoping that satisfying his craving for intimacy would help dispel the poor taste in his mouth that grief had left – he slowly sank himself down to lay along the couch.

Keeping eye contact with Shane, he pressed himself as far to the edge of the couch as he could and patted the space behind his stretched out body. The other man blushed but eagerly crawled over to fill the spot. Derek loved being the little spoon and was reminded of this fact when a strong arm draped over his waist to pull him backwards against the warm chest behind him. He hummed in the back of his throat and the empty feeling from before was chased out of him by an angry mob of content and comfort. His own arm rested atop Shane’s and drew circles on the back of that large hand.

They cuddled throughout the movie and Derek became increasingly glad they’d picked this one, because the frequent rumble of adorable laughter from Shane was proof that maybe grief didn’t have to linger _everywhere._

* * *

“That _was_ good,” Derek chuckled as the credits began to scroll on screen. He rolled under Shane’s arm so he could face him. “Still funny?”

The man simply nodded with a small smile that made the farmer grin.

“Good,” he whispered. Then, he lifted his left hand up to cup Shane’s cheek with an awestruck look. “Hey... I’ve never been able to do this side of your face before,” he giggled. That made his boyfriend laugh and it was such a sweet sound that Derek found himself blushing like a damn teenager.

When the sound dissipated, he was still stroking the wonderful stubbled jaw and the dimple he hadn’t realized lived on just the unexplored cheek. They relaxed into each other’s gazes, which grew gradually more intense. So intense that when Derek’s eyes flicked to the lips that were inches from him, it might as well have been a perfectly audible request.

One that Shane fulfilled without hesitation, leaning forward to press a warm and eager mouth against his. It was firm and unbelievably sweet. When Derek felt a tongue swipe across his bottom lip, he parted them and chased it with his own. As it deepened, he felt Shane’s arm that had been wrapped around his waist move up and down his back over his t-shirt. The heat it trailed over his clothed skin made the farmer sigh and capture Shane’s lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it until he knew it would puff up.

An answering growl from the man made a bolt of arousal course through Derek and he became delighted as he was being flipped onto his back on the couch as Shane rolled above him. He hovered there for a minute, violet bangs framing his handsome face. His eyes were just as lidded as the farmer’s but they still held uncertainty.

“U-um... is this too far?” Shane whispered. Derek shook his head and reached up to cup his face with both hands. He’d honestly been wanting more than making out for so long that every time they broke apart, it almost hurt. But he also needed to be sure his boyfriend felt the same way because the last thing he wanted to do was push any boundaries.

“No, I... is it too far for you?”

The other man shook his head. So, Derek got bolder.

“Well... what do you want then, Shane?” he drawled, running his tongue over his lips. In response, his boyfriend lowered himself so he was nestled between Derek’s legs with his face mere centimeters away. From this close, the red-head could see his pupils were blown wide which made their normal hue of green seem darker. He found himself biting his lip at that look, his own arousal making him begin to stiffen in his jeans.

“I want you.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Derek whispered. Shane was rarely bold but when he was... when he was, boy did he make it count. “Then have me,” he rasped.

Their mouths immediately crashed together, already open and needy. Shane then moved his lips down to Derek’s neck, drawing skin between his teeth and sucking roughly before soothing the mark with his tongue. The farmer moaned in response as he moved his hands from Shane’s face to sneak under his arms and wrap himself around the broad torso he’d been admiring for so long. He rubbed his palms along his back and squeezed him against his own chest. This caused Shane to shift upwards a bit more and suddenly he felt a hard length press into his own groin. They’d done this twice before, accidentally, but this time, the pressure was indicative of purpose and it was so unexpectedly confident and erotic that Derek broke the kiss to gasp at the contact.

“Yeah?” Shane whispered seductively, before he rolled his hips again, gyrating their erections together. They’d barely done much and the farmer was already panting and his whole body felt electric. He nodded quickly and dove his tongue straight past Shane’s lips in a desperate plea to resume. The man didn’t disappoint. As Shane rolled, Derek bucked until they were unashamedly dry humping on the living room couch.

Right, the couch.

Derek reluctantly broke the kiss again, still grinding against Shane. “Let’s, uh...” he panted, trailing off as his lust-clouded mind tried to find words. “Bed... bed big. Couch small.”

Shane laughed loudly and stood, offering his hand, which Derek happily used to unglue himself from the cushions. “Eloquent, aren’t we?” his boyfriend teased with a smirk. The farmer glared playfully and considered quipping something smart back when a much better idea crossed his mind. His right hand darted down and groped Shane’s erection through his cargo shorts, delightfully shocked at how it overfilled his palm. It was a nonverbal ‘shut up’ if he’d ever seen one. And quite an effective one, at that. Shane let out a guttural growl and Derek felt a distinct twitch in his grasp.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” the man husked. The red-head smirked triumphantly and regrettably removed his hand to pull them into his bedroom.

“Look!” he pointed with a lopsided grin at the new door as he closed it. “Privacy! Now no one will barge into my home and catch me jackin’ off,” he announced with pride.

Shane choked, barking out a laugh. “W- was that a problem you were having?!”

“Nope,” Derek mused. “But now I never will.” He giggled at his own antics as he made his way over to his boyfriend and soaked in the sight of his black t-shirt being stretched across his chest. This time, he didn’t have to admire from afar. So, he smoothed his palms across the material and massaged the muscles underneath. Shane watched reverently as Derek’s hands trailed up and onto his shoulders, squeezing down to curl confident fingers around his defined biceps. “Embarrassed the fuck outta myself the first day you came to help me on the farm,” Derek recalled. Then, he was back to Shane’s chest, seeking out the nipples underneath the fabric and thumbing them. He saw the man’s head tip back at the sensation. “Even back then...” he continued. “I just couldn’t get enough of you.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Red,” Shane rasped. Hearing his nickname in that tone made his own erection strain in his pants.

Derek hummed appreciatively. “Like it when you call me that,” he admitted. He stopped playing with those nipples and began descending lower with his touch. His palms began smoothing over Shane’s stomach when he felt the muscles reflexively tense and shy away. The farmer’s eyes darted back up to lock with green ones that had surprisingly been able to scoot the overwhelming lust over a bit to allow the hint of insecurity. “You trust me?” he whispered.

Shane nodded but still tensed. “I’m... it’s g-gross... been meanin’ to work out.” He looked away then, seeming to be too embarrassed to look Derek in the eyes.

“Are my arms gross?” the red-head asked softly, lifting them to the other man’s line of sight. Immediately he got the expected response: Shane shook his head rapidly, wide eyes darting back to his.

“Then it’s settled,” Derek smiled, lowering his palms back to Shane’s abdomen. “Neither one of us is gross. Deal?”

Shane gave another nod. It was reluctant but the farmer rewarded it by sliding his hands outward slightly and squeezing those soft sides, loving how grabbable they were. The bit of pudge around his midsection was just as much of a turn on as the rest of him.

“You feel so good in my hands,” he purred. This finally seemed to do Shane in, as the tension was released and Derek dropped his left hand to the hem of the shirt that was suddenly _way_ too in his goddamn way for his liking. “May I?” The insecurity seemed to flash in his eyes again; but only for a second before he made a quicker recovery. Encouraged, the farmer ran both hands underneath the shirt, gently groping at the expanses of skin being explored as the material bunched up on his wrists and rose when his hands explored upward.

Then, Shane seemed to have fully shoved his self-consciousness in some recess of his mind for the time being as his entire demeanor shifted into raw confidence. He grabbed his own shirt by the neckline and finished Derek’s job by ripping it from his body in a one fluid motion and tossing it behind him. Delightfully shocked and hopelessly aroused, the farmer melted as large hands tugged his shirt off in tandem, before cruising down the exposed skin left behind.

“Damn,” Shane whispered. And Derek never felt more appreciated than in that moment, with rough but kind palms mapping him out. Two calloused fingers pinched his left nipple and he cried out as he arched into the touch. “You’re so vocal,” Shane praised him.

The farmer couldn’t take the teasing anymore and he threw his arms around his boyfriend’s neck and kissed him with a desperate, sloppy want. His passion was returned just as intensely and he moaned into Shane’s mouth when he felt a hand grope his ass and pull his hips against the other man so that their hard-ons were rutting together again.

Without warning or much thought, really, Derek gave Shane’s lip a final nibble before sinking to his knees, huffing in arousal at the large bulge that jutted before him. He began to undo the belt buckle when his eyes darted to Shane’s.

“This okay?” he double-checked. A soft grunt was his confirmation as his nimble fingers made quick work of all the metal obstacles between him and what lay underneath those cargo shorts. He tugged them down and was met with simple dark blue briefs with a white trim. It was erotically obscene how much the fabric jutted out to accommodate Shane. He couldn’t help but give it a small kiss.

“Oh, _shit,_ ” his boyfriend hissed. Derek chuckled mischievously before deciding not to tease the man anymore as he yanked the last barrier that held back Shane’s naked body. His own dick jerked as he noticed that the man was only slightly above average in length but his incredible thickness was what had filled out his trousers so well.

Derek eagerly wrapped both hands around the cock before him and stroked slowly, drawing out hushed moans and quiet gasps of pleasure from his partner. When the farmer darted his tongue out to capture a generous drop of precum that had glistened from the tip, Shane let out the most beautiful, low whining sound he’d ever heard. He chased it by wrapping his lips around the entire head and applying pressure as he sucked, right hand continuing to stroke as his left dipped down to cup his balls. In response, Shane’s hips involuntarily thrust into his mouth and an even louder cry escaped him.

Then, he was being hauled back up from his knees and kissed hungrily. He heard the sounds of fabric and metal as Shane got rid of Derek’s pants and boxers in one go. Derek was slightly longer but definitely not as thick; but none of that seemed to matter when one of the hands he’d been fantasizing about wrapped itself around him and pumped rapidly. The farmer made his most lewd noise yet right into the other man’s mouth, who grunted with lust in return.

“All that talk about your bed and we’re still standin’ around,” Shane growled against his lips as he pushed Derek backwards onto his mattress. Then, his face was hovering over the red-head’s throbbing shaft. His nails raked down Derek’s inner thighs, causing a series of twitches and jumps of his erection.

Suddenly, Shane bent down and swallowed about seventy-five percent of his dick in one swoop and Derek was embarrassed to admit it; but the combination of all the foreplay and the feeling of Shane’s cock between his lips had worked him up so much that he came without warning. For a split second, he panicked because he hadn’t had time to speak up. But as he felt himself pulsing streams of cum into that warm mouth, Shane only let out a small moan of surprise before his throat muscles caught up, causing him to cry out in ecstasy as he was milked.

“Where the fuck did you learn _that?_ ” Derek panted as Shane’s lips slid off his softening length in farewell. The man shrugged with a dopey grin that made his heart pound longingly in his chest. The farmer yanked him up and flooded his mouth with his tongue, tasting himself as he wrapped his hand around Shane to resume where he’d left off.

“No. Stay up here,” Shane said hurriedly when Derek made a move to sink back down. “Want you with me.” The farmer felt himself overwhelmed with how much that sentiment touched him and he kept up their passionate kiss as his hand flew up and down Shane’s girth, letting his thumb rub over the slit every few strokes to spread the precum that kept flowing out.

It seemed he didn’t have to waste any time being self-conscious about his stamina, as his boyfriend quickly began moaning louder and more frequently before breaking the kiss so he could look Derek in the eyes.

Green met blue and they both floated in a connection so taut that they almost forgot to breathe. In that moment, when everything seemed to fall into a comforting heat that not even lust could be credited for, both men knew. They knew that level of connection meant something more.

“D-Derek,” Shane whined. He _loved_ that. “I’m... ‘M g-gonna-“

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, blinking slowly; reassuringly.

His boyfriend’s dark eyebrows knit together sharply as his mouth dropped open in an elongated groan and Derek felt the cock expanding in his hand before warm jets of cum blasted between their joined bodies. He stroked Shane through his orgasm until the man pulled his hips away when it became too much stimulation. 

They exchanged short, sweet kisses as they caught their breath, residual whimpers digressing into quiet, satisfied grunts.

Then, they cleaned each other up in Derek’s bathroom, sharing bashful smiles. Suddenly, the farmer let out a gasp as he pointed to the dark purple mark Shane had left on his throat, just a tad too high for a collar to cover.

“How the hell am I supposed to hide this?” he laughed, poking at it gingerly. He couldn’t deny how much it pleased him, though. _Or how nice it had felt,_ he thought.

“Sorry,” Shane mumbled, shit-eating grin implying that he was very much _not_ sorry. Derek growled and lunged forward. “Oh, shi-“ the other man gasped as he returned the favor in an equally difficult-to-hide spot on the side of his neck. Shane tried to glare when he pulled back but the aroused parting of his lips spoiled the act.

“Seems fair,” Derek smirked. He reached an arm up to swipe a bundle of purple strands from his boyfriend’s forehead. Green eyes flicked over at the movement and then stayed locked onto the arm. The farmer felt nerves bubble in his stomach but he trusted Shane. And he knew curiosity would win out at some point.

Shane gently circled his fingers around his right wrist. “A-are you... okay if-“ Derek nodded, already anticipating the question. The gentlest of smiles reassured him as his boyfriend took both of his arms in his hands, flipping them to their undersides and silently mapping out the last part of the farmer’s body – his self-harm scars. Then, Shane’s stroked along each arm in unison with his thumbs, the roughened pads gliding up and down. “Any of ‘em still hurt?” he asked with a small head tilt.

“No,” Derek whispered. “I... haven’t... you know. It’s been a while.”

Shane smiled fondly, then, still only looking at his arms and still tenderly stroking over the raised lines and bumps. “Can’t be easy to stop.” Derek’s breath hitched again because Shane always floored him with his casual validation that the red-head always had to beg from people. The understanding and patience that Shane delivered that he’d had to ask others for multiple times over.

In big-mouth-Derek fashion, he blurted: “I love you.”

They froze. The farmer’s heart pounded so loud he wondered if Shane could hear it. They were still naked, too, but somehow Derek felt even _more_ naked right now. Why the hell did he say that? He had no proof that the other man reciprocated. It was way too early, wasn’t it? What was the timeline for this shit? Would Shane bolt, too embarrassed to admit he wasn’t there yet?

A pair of lips against his inner wrist made him open the eyes he never remembered closing. Shane laid a few kisses along the scars of both arms, his lips so light that they almost didn’t feel like they were there until the very end of the kiss, where he would press just slightly before pulling off. It was like the man had a PhD in tenderness and when he laid the last peck on Derek’s soul, he planted a firmer one on his mouth.

Shane pulled back just a millimeter so that his moving lips could brush Derek’s as he whispered, warm breath cascading between them like a pleasant breeze:

“I love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sinner, I'm a sinner, I'm a sinner, I'm a sinner.  
> But (:


	23. Craft a Tapper, you Sap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spa pt. 1
> 
> As well as background character advancements (;

If anyone had been watching Shane, they might’ve thought he were an imposter strolling around in a realistic costume. He was smiling as he passed through the farm and exited south, on his way to the ranch. The sun was inching towards the horizon as he whistled in a careless, off-key tune as his hands rested just beneath the hems of his pockets. Shane was undeniably happy with the knowledge that he’d not only shared multiple levels of intimacy with the most gorgeous man in the world; but said man also _loved_ him. For just this moment, he wouldn’t question it.

But when he opened his front door, he froze in shock and concern. Marnie was sitting at the kitchen table, quietly crying over a mug of another one of her teas. Immediately, the high he’d been riding on crashed and the confidence he’d snapped into after Derek worshipped the body he loathed (for years, mind you) had vanished. It was replaced with a nagging combination of worry and guilt. Had he done something? Last they spoke was this morning and he could’ve sworn everything had been fine. Had he read it wrong? Accidentally brushed her off?

Her head snapped up as he closed the door and she quickly tried wiping her cheeks and forcing a smile, as if Shane hadn’t just watched her sob for five solid seconds.

“Oh,” she whispered with a click of her tongue. “Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to get so worked up.” Marnie picked up her mug and took a small sip before setting it down and curling her shaky hands around it for warmth.

Shane made his way over to the table but didn’t sit, fingers twitching anxiously. “Uh...” his Adam’s apple bobbed with the effort of getting words out. “Look, if I... if I said someth-“

“Oh, _no_!” Marnie soothed, waving her hand back and forth. “No, no, no. Nothing to do with you, I promise.” She gave another weak attempt at a smile. He looked at her for a moment longer before finally sinking into the wooden chair across from her. It was identical to the night she’d confessed her woes to Shane after the bedroom incident. She’d comforted him then, and he supposed he’d try his best to return the favor.

“Do you...” Too bad he was still fucking awkward. “Wanna talk...?”

“Don’t worry yourself over me, dear. You have enough on your plate. I’m a big girl,” she reassured sweetly. But Shane didn’t like that response one bit. Sure, he was fucked in the head but he wasn’t _utterly_ useless as a source of comfort, right? If Derek’s expression – after Shane had wordlessly promised that he found worth in the lines of his arms that had been opened to _drain_ worth – were any indication, he could admit that, if nothing else, he could at least _listen._

“We’re family,” he muttered softly. “Means when we need each other... we, uh- we stick together, right?”

Marnie let out a watery chuckle, smiling fondly and cupping his cheek with a hand that had been warmed by the mug. “You’re sweeter a boy than you give yourself credit for.” With a resigned sigh, she dropped her hand and her gaze. “It’s... Lewis.”

Shane felt his anger begin to flare up and it seemed like prickly protective feelings could make room for one more on the list. “What’d he do?” He tried to keep his voice even but the set of his jaw gave away the rage. Marnie didn’t go on the defensive this time. Instead, she made a small huff that almost sounded like flippant agreement to the abrasive tone.

“More so what he _didn’t_ do,” she admitted bitterly. She took a longer sip of her tea and Shane patiently waited for her to explain, shocked at her sudden animosity with the mayor. Not that it wasn’t deserved by all means – no, it was actually quite relieving. “I’ve been... talkin’ to a friend of mine lately.” One of her Tuesday work out friends? “I guess he saw Lewis and I’s behavior and... well, we got to talkin’.” Shane furrowed his brows in confusion. Who the hell in town knew one of the most closely guarded secrets he could think of? He racked his brain for anyone who might come to mind; but he came up empty. “And, Shane... I’ve known. I’ve been well aware how Lewis’s obsession over his reputation affects me. It took a lot of talking with my friend but... I finally admitted how much it’s been hurtin’ me.” Her voice cracked and she covered her quivering lips with a loose fist as she tried to gather herself.

Should he hold her hand? Hug her? Just sit here silently? Maybe he _was_ kind of useless at this. Maybe he only knew what to say around Derek.

“So, when Lewis and I met for lunch this afternoon, I...” Marnie bit her lip and let out a sad sigh. “I told him how much he was hurting me by hidin’ me like some... dirty, little secret.” Her voice threatened to break again and she cleared her throat roughly. “Told him that he needed to decide... to decide if preserving some _image_ was more important... than _me_.” Her head bowed as another sob shook her stout frame. Then, she hastily spat out: “I trust from my fussin’, you can gather his decision.”

Shane stood from his chair, then, and moved to her side of the table, before gathering her into a tight hug. He didn’t know where the impulse had come from and he hadn’t even really realized he’d been moving until his aunt let herself go against his shoulder. He did what he always did for Jas and rubbed circles into Marnie’s back as she cried, unrestrained. Shane felt so much rage and despair for the woman in this moment that he was sure if his arms weren’t currently occupied, they’d be ripping open the front door to advance on the mayor like a homing missile.

No one needed violence right now, though. Right now, the woman that had always cared so deeply for him just needed that in return. And he could do that.

“Please tell me you dumped his ass, Marn,” he whispered into her hair.

She scoffed with a small chuckle. “I’m no _fool,_ Shane. I know my worth.” She didn’t even admonish him for the curse.

“Good.” He moved the hand between her shoulder blades to the back of her hair – again, just mimicking moves he did with Jas when she had a particularly nasty nightmare. “It hurts now, Marn, but you deserve someone who is damn proud to be seen with you.”

He heard her sobs quiet before she eventually pulled back just enough to look at him with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Shane really didn’t know how he was going to keep himself in check next time he saw that old bastard. Marnie’s hands reached up to cup his face, sad brown gaze filled with so much love that it made him slightly less ready to commit a murder.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she whispered. “I love you like my own, you know that?” And, man, wasn’t _that_ a sucker punch because didn’t he admit in Harvey’s clinic that he sometimes felt the same? If only he weren’t such a disappointing adoptive son. But he nodded anyway and gave her a soft smile.

Then, her eyes widened in elated shock and she gasped. “Young man, what is _that?_ ” she giggled, pointing to the dark mark on his throat. She was definitely motherly, alright. He internally groaned and cursed Derek for putting him in a position where he was essentially rubbing his love life into his heartbroken aunt’s face.

“It’s nothin’, Marn...” he grumbled, clicking his tongue.

“Oh, come on!” she teased, slapping his arm. “Give this old woman somethin’ to be happy about. Who is it?” She wiggled her eyebrows and it would be agitating if he had any real capacity for contempt towards her nowadays. That wouldn’t stop his eye roll, though.

He mumbled something inaudible. When she cocked her ear towards him dramatically, he repeated: “Derek! It’s the farmer, okay?” She squealed and his eyes squeezed shut against the noise. He could’ve sworn he only lived with one kid.

“So _that’s_ where you’ve been all day, hm?” Shane blushed and decided to indulge her for a moment, if not just to chase the pain further from her eyes.

“Well, first I had to make a trip to Pierre’s-“

Another squeal. Yoba, she was loud. Then, at his second wince, she seemed to make an attempt to recompose herself.

“Sorry, dear. I’m just very, _very_ happy for you. You two had such a... strange start,” she said delicately, eliciting a snort from him. “But!” she rushed to add. “I sensed something between you two at that Flower Dance. I mean, everyone was just so shocked! It was like you both were in your own little world.”

Shane groaned, never much liking overly sentimental and sappy conversations. Though, Derek had probably broken that rule a couple of times, too. Marnie just laughed good-naturedly at his discomfort and patted his cheek affectionately. Then, she stepped over to the oven and opened the door, donning an oven mitt to pull out a tray of baked peppers that she had sliced and seasoned before mincing with ground beef.

“Kept this warm for you,” she smiled. Shane’s mouth began watering instantly as his stomach growled. He mumbled an appreciative ‘ _thanks_ ’ before grabbing himself a plate, loading it up, and digging in.

As the spice flooded his mouth delightfully, his eyes shot open before he let out an annoyed groan.

He’d left his sparkling water at Derek’s.

**Derek**

After throwing his clothes and sheets in the wash with a stupidly permanent blush, he dressed in a pair of pajamas. From there, he’d made himself a light dinner and was eating in front of the TV when his phone buzzed multiple times. Curiously, he picked it up only to feel it vibrate again. _Yoba,_ he thought in mild shock. Flicking it on, he saw he’d gotten messages from two separate people.

**7:48PM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
hey uh I think I left my drinks from Pierre’s at your place  
  
the water  
  
you think you could put them in the fridge for me? I could pick them up tomorrow if it’s ok with you  
  
I mean I’d come over now but Jas would be very upset if I left with only one hand done  
  
**7:49PM**  
**Abigail**  
hey derek! hope u liked your flowers ;) he picked a good one. meet me at the shop before practice 2morrow? like 5?  


Both messages (or series of messages in Shane’s case) made Derek confused but happy. He started with Abigail, since she only really required a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Then, he re-read Shane’s with an amused chuckle. He searched for the other bag the man had brought with him and spotted it by the front door. Wondering how he’d missed that, he opened the bag and smiled fondly at the contents. Cherry-flavored sparkling water. Damn, he loved his boyfriend.

After carefully arranging the cans in neat rows in his fridge – making a mental note to stock up on them himself for when Shane came over – he shut the door and typed out a reply.

**7:59PM**  
 **Derek**  
Cherry’s a good choice. Come pick them up whenever it’s no worries  
  
Also what about your hands??  
  
**8:01PM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
dont laugh...  
  
I let her paint my nails  


He couldn’t help but giggle, it was too adorable to picture his gruff and often moody boyfriend sitting patiently while a little girl happily applied pigment to his fingertips. Derek almost asked what color she’d chosen. But then something else popped into the forefront of his mind and he really hoped Shane would go for it.

**8:02PM**  
 **Derek**  
Not laughing, promise!  
  
Also... I was wondering if you knew where the gym or whatever was? Harvey said the weight room would be good for my arm. You know, so I don’t resemble a Disney fish  
  
  
And though you’ll never hear ME complaining, I know you’ve been wanting to work out too soooo  
  
Maybe you’d join me?  


Derek bit at his nails anxiously, wondering if Shane would be repulsed by the idea. Or if he were being too clingy already asking to spend time with him again. He groaned internally. Then, his phone buzzed again and he eagerly read the replies.

**8:05PM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
oh the spa?  
  
yeah there’s a gym portion with all the equipment and shit and then there’s the bathhouse part  
  
**8:06PM**  
I dunno though  
  
you sure you wanna see my shitty attempts at lifting?  
  
I usually just swim  
  
**8:07PM**  
 **Derek**  
I don’t have a swimsuit  
  
I’d be delighted to see your shitty attempts at lifting if you don’t mind mine  
  
**8:08PM**  
**Chicken Boy**  
I have an extra pair of trunks you can borrow  
  
pfft fine, deal  
  
we’ll do both  
  
the hot water is good for the soreness afterwards anyway  


For some reason, Derek felt his cheeks warm up at the thought of wearing Shane’s clothes. He smiled at his phone and typed out a resounding yes to those plans. As they continued to text back and forth throughout the night, the farmer smiled and laughed into the screen multiple times.

* * *

As they’d planned late last night, Shane came into view as he made his way onto the farm a little before eleven the next morning. He was wearing his blue Joja hoodie and a pair of navy blue swim trunks with gray string; bag slung over his shoulder. Derek had just finished the last of his watering, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Aren’t you gonna be hot in that?” the farmer called out, gesturing to the jacket. As the other man closed the distance, he snorted in amusement.

“You’re one to talk,” he pointed out at the signature long sleeves. Then, concern flashed over Shane’s face. “You, uh... you swim with a rash guard or somethin’?” Derek paled, mentally face palming at the blatant oversight. Right, the very reason he hadn’t swum in years. Why he hadn’t owned a damn swim suit in the first place. His boyfriend immediately caught the facial expression and blurted: “W-we don’t have to... do that part. Don’t stress it.”

The farmer thought for a moment, sighing and offering a small, unsure smile. “I mean... if there’s not anyone else there... then it should be fine, right?”

“Up to you.”

“Show me the suit you brought me and I may be more inclined,” he said with a playful smirk. Shane chuckled and unslung the black gym bag from his shoulder, ripping it open with a sharp _zip_. That was when Derek spotted a hint of dark purple hugging around the cuticle of his ring finger that must’ve been left over from Jas’s manicure last night.

“Nice color choice,” he giggled, wiggling his own ring finger at Shane. Green eyes narrowed and darted down to his hand, huffing in mild frustration.

“Shut up.” But there was a smile in his voice as he hastily picked at the spot of pigment with a wide thumbnail before he finished opening the bag. Inside was a mass of clothing. “Er- I kinda just emptied all my old swim gear into here. Didn’t know what you would like...” Derek sifted through the contents before his eyes caught something that made him gasp and laugh wildly, yanking the item out. Shane’s eyes immediately widened as he sputtered.

The farmer had plucked out a pair of red Speedo briefs.

“I think you should swap your suit for _these,_ ” he teased, still laughing. Shane groaned and made a swipe for them but Derek jerked them back from his reach, eyes glinting with pure mischief. “ _Or_ were you hoping _I’d_ wear them?”

“C’mon,” his boyfriend half-whined. “I swear I just dumped shit in there! Forgot I even had those.” He made another swipe, notably half-hearted, and they were easily kept away from him again. Derek tilted his head curiously, a suggestive smirk curving his lips.

“You ever wear these?” he murmured in a low voice. Immediately, Shane’s face was coloring and he crossed his arms defensively.

“N-no... I... th-they didn’t...” He shuffled awkwardly and gave the back of his neck a quick scratch. “They didn’t fit,” he mumbled at the ground, blushing insanely red.

“ _Oh,_ ” Derek replied in a delighted whisper. “Too big, aren’t ya?”

“Look, can you just give ‘em back and pick something out?”

“Think I just did.”

“ _Derek._ ”

“You better hope there’s no one else in that bathhouse, Shane.”

* * *

By the time the pair had trekked up through the mountains to the spa, they were both panting.

“Good work out, let’s go home,” Derek joked between puffs of breath. Shane managed a small smile before pulling the door open and stepping aside. “Such a _gentleman,_ ” the farmer winked, walking through the entrance. The pair entered the men’s locker room and Shane unzipped his ratty hoodie to reveal a white tank that made the red-head suck in a breath and try not to stare at the way it exposed his arms and even the faint outline of his nipples.

“I usually wear this under my uniform,” Shane grunted, picking at the fabric idly. “Nice to work out in. But you wouldn’t catch me dead walkin’ through town in it. ‘S why I wore the hoodie.” he shrugged. Derek let out a soft hum of understanding.

“Well it looks damn good on you.”

Shane gulped, cheeks tinged pink. He gestured at the farmer, then. “You, uh... not changin’ out of those pants?”

Derek just shrugged. “I’m not runnin’ track, I’m just liftin’ weights.” Then, he smirked. “Unless you want them off...”

“You’re the worst,” his boyfriend grumbled.

Derek laughed again, finding his face was heating up. “Yeah, you love me, though,” he quipped. Just before Shane opened the door to the gym, he threw a fond look over his shoulder.

His lips barely moved as he mumbled a soft, affectionate ‘ _yeah_ ’.

It melted him into a fucking puddle and he was beaming all the way up until they stepped into the moderately-sized room and stopped short.

Shirtless, sweating, and doing bicep curls with a large barbell was Alex. A white towel hung over one shoulder and a green water bottle rested at his sneakered foot. At the sound of the door opening, the brunette halted his movements and looked up at the two in shock before his eyes narrowed slightly and sized them both up.

For an agonizingly tense moment, the only sound was the gentle whirring of fans overhead and the soft, peppy radio music that played from the speakers in the ceiling. In his peripheral, he saw Shane instinctively cross his arms defensively in what Derek realized wasn’t an attempt to look intimidating; but an attempt to cover himself.

“You here to work out?” Alex asked accusingly. “Or you here to do more of _that_?” he sneered, prodding at the side of his own neck. He saw Shane turn his head slightly to hide the purple bruise from Alex’s line of sight.

“Depends how much you’re paying?” Derek quipped, not missing a beat. The man beside him choked and the one in front of him made a disgusted face.

“Why the hell are you here?” the jock spat.

“Last time I checked it was a free fuckin’ country,” Shane growled from beside him.

“Wouldn’t think you’d like it here.” Alex snarked. He resumed lifting the weight up and down as the muscles in his right arm bulged. “You know the only beverages allowed in here are water and sports drinks, right?” He held up the transparent green bottle for emphasis. Shane grit his teeth until his left temple was blatant against his heated skin.

“Oh, really?” Derek chuckled flatly. “You followin’ that rule, too? Vodka in a water bottle is the oldest trick in the book. Sure you’re not projecting?” Alex’s eyes blazed and he slammed the weight to the ground. _Well, that’s a sore spot if I’ve ever seen one,_ Derek noted. The brunette didn’t say another word as he hastily gathered his belongings before brushing roughly past the farmer and into the men’s locker room, slamming the door behind him. Derek shook his head briskly with a long sigh and chanced a glance at Shane.

He was glaring at the floor by his feet, still and stony as a statue.

“Shouldn’t have come with you,” he grumbled at the carpeting. “’M bad news.”

Derek shook his head, frustrated at how much confidence his boyfriend could lose to the hands of some insecure punk with a superiority complex. He stood in front of Shane and used his right hand to tilt the man’s chin up so they were eye-level. He flinched away at first, but Derek cupped his cheek and held steady.

Derek spoke with slow, annunciated words that dropped between them like weights: “I love you, Shane Robinson.” And finally, those green eyes locked with his. They pooled with so much pain and doubt and raw _shame_ that Derek could only run his thumb over Shane’s cheekbone silently as he fought through his own twisting heart for more words. “I have since, like”—his eyes flitted away briefly and his movements stilled as he thought back—“the weekend after Jas’s party,” he recalled. When he looked back, he saw shock mix into the stew of emotions Shane held. “Probably knew sooner but was too chicken shit to admit it. Because... because I never thought in a million years that you could feel the same.”

“What?” Shane croaked before awkwardly clearing his throat. “W-Why do you... what about you makes you think...” The man swallowed thickly. “That I wouldn’t?”

Derek let out a sigh of resignation. “Because I’m clingy,” he said simply. “I have abandonment issues out the ass and I disappear... like, a lot. It’s actually been tamer since I’ve moved here. Back in the city, I was gone once for _two and a half months,_ ” he whispered. Shane’s eyes finally softened and he gave the farmer a small smile. It was such an opposite reaction to what he’d expected that he was almost going to reiterate himself as if Shane hadn’t heard him right. But then, the other man was talking.

“Tomorrow let’s call Harvey’s little shrink list, okay?” He said with a soft chuckle before going serious. “If you... do that disappear thing... for however long- I’ll... I’ll still be here when you get back.” Derek searched those green depths for any uncertainty and his heart swelled almost painfully when he found no trace. “’Cause... what if I’m a bit clingy, too?” Then, he kissed Derek; just a short, sweet press of his lips.

“If you’d told me,” the red-head whispered. “On the night of the third of spring that the man who’d just kicked my ass after telling me to fuck off the night before... would be in front of me nearly two seasons later... makin’ me blush like an idiot from how _madly_ in love I am...” Shane’s eyes were so intense at this point that time itself could be collapsing around them and Derek wouldn’t have a clue, losing himself in the emotional connection two souls had crafted at some dingy gym in some desolate town on some unforgiving rock in space that didn’t give two shits about time. “I think...” His voice was barely audible but the two of them had unconsciously leaned in so far that Derek’s lips were writing the words on Shane’s in case his ears couldn’t pick up the sound.

“I think I would’ve believed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better hope no one's in the bathhouse, Shane


	24. I Wanna Swim Away But Don't Know How

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you fine folks remember Derek and Shane's first kiss - specifically the 'marker' incident - then let me use that as a frame of reference for this chapter. Because there's a tad more of that in here.
> 
> This is also another longer chapter so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> On a final note,  
> I've spent like 12 hours today because I found out what Work Skins are and I JUST took a CSS/HTML course last term and it's really fun! But, this fic looks a lot better with the creator style on now. There's some fine tuning I will do tomorrow to make it look good on mobile (I'm afraid to even look at it on mobile quite frankly) and to also make it look decent for people who choose to hide the creator styles. That being said, hope you like it!

The two of them exercised side by side for around half an hour, before Shane noticed that Derek’s left arm was quickly wearing out. He nearly had to pry the weight from the red-head’s hand when he tried to pump even harder through the obvious pain. As they both re-racked their gear, Shane’s eyes flicked over to a nearby bench press.

He looked over to the farmer, nervously. “Spot me?”

Derek quirked an eyebrow and nodded, gesturing with his hand for him to lead the way.

Shane loaded the hanging barbell with an amount that made him grimace in embarrassment but also filled him with a bit of a thrill at falling into old habits. He used to love hitting the gym during his gridball days. It hadn’t even been out of necessity back then – it’d been downright enjoyable. The delightfully sore feeling he always got after a good work out chased away any feelings of being the useless, lazy lump his father had liked to call him.

Satisfied as he could possibly be with the weight, Shane slid onto the bench as Derek moved behind his head. He dangled his arms off the sides of the bench and gave them a wiggle to loosen the muscles, exhaling a determined puff of air. Then, he reached up and gripped the cool, metal bar as the farmer’s hands ghosted the bottom of it, spread just beyond Shane’s to frame his grasp.

“Ready?”

Shane made a small, affirmative grunt and lifted the barbell from its suspension. As he’d trained himself many moons ago, his eyes fixated at a point on the ceiling and he channeled deep, steady breaths into that spot as he did slow reps. He was dimly aware of the sweat he was already working up, feeling it matting into his fringe and snuggling up to his chest. Then, he made the mistake of breaking eye contact with the ceiling to glance at Derek and he had to hastily return the barbell because the farmer’s eyes were slightly lidded and his pink lips were parted.

“Huh-uh,” Shane panted. “You can’t look at me like that. Not unless you want me droppin’ that on myself.”

Derek shook his head with an embarrassed smile. It was flattering; endearing, even. But dangerous all the same. “Sorry, right. Ready?”

Another grunt.

After another set of reps, Derek’s hands had to do more than just brush the underside of the bar as Shane’s muscles began calling it quits. He heard the farmer huff in surprise when he helped Shane put it back up.

“Shit, how much was that?!”

“Two fifteen,” Shane grumbled, still a bit bitter at himself. “Used to be able to do a lot more. Kinda pathetic.”

Derek scoffed. “You kiddin’? You could bench _me_.”

“Tempting,” he teased, making the farmer blush. Sitting up, he turned towards Derek, trying to ignore how obvious the man was staring. He ran a hand through his uncomfortably sweaty hair and wondered again what there was to stare at. “Wanna swim? I’ll make sure Douchebag didn’t relocate there.”

His boyfriend snorted and nodded before they both walked into the men’s room, Shane ducking into the bathhouse briefly and scanning the room. Nothing. He dipped back in with a thumbs up, before his stomach caught up to what this meant as it erupted in nervous butterflies.

Before he could even attempt to ask Derek if he were sure about this, the man pulled his shirt over his head and fished the Speedo from the gym bag again. He was smirking with a devilish glint in his eye. Two could play at that game, Shane supposed. He’d forgotten how post-gym adrenaline had always given him a bit of a confidence and mood boost, too. So, he crossed his arms over his body, hands curling under the hem of his tank before rolling it over his head and tossing it onto the bench.

It had the desired effect. Never before had Shane felt so comfortable and maybe even _desired_ underneath someone else’s gaze – especially with his upper body exposed. Not since gridball, at least. Even then, he’d always been somewhat bashful, worried about coming off as some egotistical prick. Emboldened by Shane’s reciprocating flirt, Derek began unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zip down audibly.

“Huh-uh,” he croaked at the farmer. “I’m goin’ in the bathhouse ‘cause if I stay here...” Shane bit his lower lip as his eyes raked over the jeans that now hung low enough on his boyfriend’s hips to show there couldn’t be anything on underneath. Practical choice, sure. Not like you wear underwear with swimsuits, either. Still, he tried not to think about how the red-head had been going commando _this entire time_ as he whirled around, hardening in his trunks with a tortured growl: “Yep, see you out there.”

Derek’s amused chuckle followed him out. Ginger bastard.

The steam hit him like a soft pillow, making his shoulders relax instantly. Shane sat on the edge of the hot pool and eased himself into the water, letting out a long groan as it caressed his sore muscles. Not a moment later, the door behind him opened and he turned his head. Then, he was tense again and not breathing much.

For all intents and purposes, what Derek wore was _technically_ a socially acceptable suit. However, the red fabric left little to the imagination and he couldn’t help but follow the man with his eyes to catch how it hugged his unfairly generous rear. His tan, muscly thighs bulged from the leg holes as Shane watched them slowly disappear into the water, followed by an eyeful of what was cradled in between them by the briefs.

“They don’t look stupid, do they?” His eyes darted up to the farmer’s face, catching a genuinely bashful smile. _Was he kidding?_ Shane, in his ever-intelligent grasp of the English language, replied with a low, aroused groan and a shake of his head. It almost made him feel disgusted with himself; but to be fair, he was only human. Possibly caveman, if his eloquence gave any indication.

In any case, it made Derek blush bright red and give another shy chuckle. He glided through the water over to where Shane leaned against the wall of the pool, fingers twitching anxiously beneath the surface. The farmer stepped into his space, tilting his head with a soft hum.

“You were right... this is quite relaxing.”

Shane could only nod mutely, becoming resigned to the fact that he was probably going to be pitching an underwater tent this entire time. At least the water was working the tension out of him again.

But then Derek held out his hand expectantly and Shane swallowed nervously as he took it. He allowed himself to be led to the middle of the pool, the water lapping just at their sternums. The farmer put his arms around Shane’s neck like they were about to slow dance in the fucking bathhouse. Whether fortunately or not, Shane’s baggy swim trunks had given him much room to grow and the tip of his clothed erection tapped Derek’s hip like a curious neighbor.

Then, from somewhere in an adjacent room, a locker slammed. Abruptly, they sprang apart like they’d been caught in the actual act of intercourse. Shane instinctively dipped his hand into his trunks and adjusted himself to lay upwards and to the side, a move that did not go unnoticed by the red-head who shot him a wink, before carrying out an identical motion. This man was going to kill him, surely.

They both slunk to the far side of the pool, Shane darting worried glances to the locker room doors on his right. Somehow, Derek appeared wholly unbothered as he sidled beside him against the wall and slung both arms out of the water to spread them casually across the concrete ledge, indirectly putting his right arm around Shane. Then, the red-head tilted his head back to rest on the ledge as well, letting out a relaxed sigh. And Shane just couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

For a moment, he’d forgotten why they’d even moved to a – marginally – less obvious position when the girl’s locker room door swung open.

“Oh, hey!” Abigail chirped, wearing a black bikini. Shane stiffened immediately and so did Derek, oddly. “You two leaving enough room for Yoba in here?” she teased with a giggle before jumping in. He choked at that and watched as the farmer remained stock-still before finally being their spokesperson.

“Hush, you,” he croaked. _The hell is he so nervous about? Is he nervous to be seen with me?_ Shane lamented. But no, that didn’t make sense, right? After what Derek had said to him in the gym after their run-in with Alex, that didn’t make _sense_ , right? Or was that only because the jock wasn’t close to him, whereas Abigail was obviously his best friend?

Abigail hummed thoughtfully as she approached them, water parting behind her. “Actually, it’s convenient you happened to be here, so we don’t have to meet at the general store later.” _Huh?_ Suddenly, even though it was the purple-haired girl who’d interrupted them, it was Shane who felt like an interloper.

“R-right. You wanted to talk ‘bout somethin’?”

“Err-“ Shane finally spoke. “Should I go...?” Derek tried his best to hide the way his head snapped to him; and those blue eyes were filled with so much muted terror and anxiety that it threw him for a loop. What was going on? Then, something warm and damp pressed against his back. Derek’s arm. Derek’s _bare_ arm. Outside of the pool. Both of them, in fact. Shane snuck a glance and saw every muscle in them tensing with the effort of melting them facedown against the concrete to hide the scarring.

But it didn’t quite make sense. Was Shane the only one that knew, still? Well, besides the doctor, he supposed. Why was Derek still hiding it from his closest friends? He tried not to let the secret become currency to his esteem-deprived mind.

“No,” Abigail said simply. Her eyes flicked back to Derek, blissfully ignorant to the anxiety emanating from the man in waves. “I wanted to talk to you about band practice today... specifically because Sebby’s gonna be there.”

Derek’s voice came out so painfully thin: “U-um- well, I would expect so... considering it’s b-band practice and... he’s in the... band,” he stuttered. The drummer must’ve taken his awkwardness as directed toward the goth, though, because she still seemed unphased as she rolled her eyes with a small huff.

“I’m giving you a head’s up because he’s been really...” She sighed, crossing her arms as it seemed the misplaced tension in the room were seeping into her now, too. “Look, he told Sam and I how he felt, like... _way_ before he told you.” A piece of hair was tucked behind her ear. “And I kinda feel bad because I always pushed him to just tell you. I mean, he was being an ass to you for no reason!” Her shoulders shrugged in agitation. Derek still wasn’t moving or talking or even really indicating he was listening. “But since that night he walked you home, he’s been holed up in his basement.” She shuddered as if the steam around them had traded places with a frost.

“And I’m not... it’s not your fault or anything,” she added hastily. “I’m just saying that I feel bad for pushing him to get his heart broken. I mean, for Yoba’s sake, I had to bribe him with a frozen tear from the mines to get him to go tonight.” Her eyes rolled.

“What do I... what do you want me to... do... about that?” Derek asked reluctantly. “You want me to bail?” The second question was asked with so much forced nonchalance that Shane saw through the words like they were glass: _Are you guys kicking me out? Can you not stand me anymore? Have I ruined it?_

Hell, he wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be Derek’s internal monologue or his own.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she snorted. “I’m just filling you in. Giving you fair warning that he’s probably not going to be himself for a while. Like, his usual broodiness but on steroids, basically.” Shane couldn’t bite back his chortle quick enough but it just made Abigail smile at him. “You two are adorbs, by the way.” _Well now, I’m going to hurl,_ he groused. “I told you I saw it, Der! The night you brought him to practice. I called it.” Her tone was so oddly prideful that it made Shane uncomfortable again.

He chanced a look at the farmer, whose arms were still plastered against the bumpy concrete as his fingers alternated between anxious drumming and anxious scratching on the ground.

“But...” Abigail bit her lip apologetically. “Maybe you shouldn’t bring him... at least for a little while.”

“There’s no reason for me to go, anyways,” Shane blurted. Immediately, he realized how harsh that came off and he cringed before quickly revising: “I mean, how am I gonna enjoy your gigs if I’ve heard all the songs a million times?” Derek just grunted. They really needed to get Abigail to go somewhere else for a damn minute.

Instead, she tilted her head thoughtfully as her gaze dropped to the farmer’s bare torso. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show this much skin,” she joked. Damn it, out of all the times for her aloofness to falter, it had to be now.

“’M cold-blooded,” Derek deadpanned. “Always freezing.” Then, in her continuing streak of sudden observation, she frowned.

“You okay? You seem a bit pale. Even for a ginger.” But this joke was not accompanied by a smile. Instead, her eyes were concerned.

Shane tried to help his boyfriend out. Tried to think of something to deflect or redirect her attention. But he wasn’t even good at that when it came to his own damn self, let alone another person. So instead, he berated himself as he stood, silently grinding his teeth. Then, he realized that by not pretending to be as confused as Abigail, he was underhandedly admitting participation in the secret.

The girl’s eyes flicked over both of them and her cheeks tinged pink. _Wrong direction,_ Shane panicked. _It’s not-_

“ _Oh._ Did I... actually interrupt something...?” she chittered nervously. The embarrassment seemed to finally gift him with a set of vocal cords as Shane sputtered:

“N-No, no! No, uh... he-“

“Abby,” Derek cut him off, voice low and unnervingly monotone. “If I show you something, do you promise not to freak out?” She gave him the expected bewildered look. “Or tell anyone, either? Not even Sam and Seb?”

“Um... yeah, Der. Sure. ‘Course.” Another piece strand of purple hair was tucked behind her ear.

The red-head let out a slow sigh before lifting his arms from the concrete, shoulders popping loudly from having to strain so long in the unnatural position. The surface’s hard lumps had embedded their texture into the man’s skin; but it did nothing to hide what else lay there.

“Shit.” Then, she seemed to cringe at her own bluntness. “Sorry,” she revised hastily. “Foot-in-mouth-disease.” Her eyes tentatively traced over Derek’s arms before the man sunk them below the water, hiding his shame with a small hiss. “Um... I’m not really good at saying things,” she admitted. Shane could fuckin’ drink nonalcoholic beverages to that. “But you don’t have to hide from me. Or from the others. We don’t care- I mean, we _care,_ but-“

“I get it,” Derek cut in. “Still... between us, right?” She nodded and then looked at Shane, seeming to connect the dots around his lack of response or surprise to the matter.

“You must be pretty special, huh?”

Shane burst out laughing, closing his eyes with the force of it. Then, he felt a hand smack him upside the head.

“She meant it, dumbass,” Derek teased, seeming to have finally settled his nerves. He shot the farmer a half-serious glare, rubbing the back of his head. Abigail was giggling in amusement. She then waded to the side of the pool and hoisted herself out, dripping onto the gray surface.

“I’m going to go get ready for practice. See you two later!” She waved before walking toward the girl’s locker room. Last second, she turned and shot Derek a serious smile. “Thanks for trusting me, Der. You know I love your stubborn ass,” she giggled before disappearing beyond the door.

Shane turned to the farmer and saw a surprised smile on his face and hints of moisture in his eyes. In that moment, he decided Abigail was _definitely_ his favorite of Derek’s friends and maybe if Shane could whip himself into shape, she could be a _mutual_ friend. Then, he heard his boyfriend sigh shakily and something shifted.

“Shane?” He watched those lips move but the voice was so _broken_ compared to what his expression had been just seconds ago. Derek tore his eyes from the door Abigail had exited through and there was so much shame written on his face that Shane seized up for a moment. “I... I keep thinkin’... you know, even if I _do_ get better or whatever... even if I _do_ stop...” The farmer twisted to face him, bringing his upturned forearms from the water to fold out on display between them, dropping his gaze there. “This’ll never go away,” he whispered.

And Shane just hadn’t thought about that, had he?

“Makes me think...” the red-head gulped. “Makes me think... what’s even the point, then? You know?” When his head lifted back to Shane, tears were gently trailing down his cheeks like little tributaries from a body of blue. And he didn’t know how to respond, of course, because when was Shane Robinson ever going to be known for his speech? Tattoos existed, sure. But maybe Derek didn’t want tattoos. They were expensive, after all.

Finally, something sparked in Shane’s memory and he shifted to face Derek as well. “Remember what you said to me? In Marnie’s truck after you drove me from ZBC?” He paused; but not long enough to wait for a confirmation. “You said that nothin’ anyone says about me matters because they don’t know the shit I’ve gone through. You said... they have no room to judge... right?”

“But-“

“Let me finish,” Shane chided. “You said somethin’ else, too... somethin’ about it not being easy to ignore... like, you can’t just brush it off or whatever. And yeah, you’re right. You can’t. But... I’ll, uh... I may not be good at talkin’,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I _can_ knock someone on their ass if they say shit.” Shane’s eyes darted to his boyfriend to give a bashful smile through his lashes. The other man gave a small huff of a laugh and worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Better at talkin’ than you give yourself credit for, chicken boy.” Shane chortled and tentatively moved closer, unsure for a crazed moment if he were allowed to do such a thing. Derek instantly knew what the hesitation was asking and he answered by wrapping his arms around Shane. In return, he embraced the red-head fiercely, holding him like the prickling feelings had wanted him to since he sat at the man’s kitchen table after the tire swing accident. “You sure you won’t be... embarrassed? To, you know... be seen with me when... when I’m like that?” Derek whispered into his neck.

“Careful,” Shane answered in a low rumble. “Startin’ to sound like me, Red.” A series of warm puffs against his skin indicated that the farmer was chuckling and he felt his mouth turn up at the corners. “Besides... you can’t sit here and tell me you don’t _bake_ in those shirts. Thinner material or not.”

“ _Yoba, it’s so fuckin’ hot,”_ Derek admitted in a whine. Then, they were both laughing loudly.

Eventually, they got out of the pool and dried off in the locker room and re-dressed. This time, it seemed Shane’s libido could keep itself in check as his boyfriend stripped naked to yank his pants back on. Even if only hanging on by a thread. He supposed that’s what all the romance writers meant when they blabbed about mood shifts.

That, and the red-head was obviously still deeply troubled, mulling over their conversation. Shane hoped he’d said the right things. Derek _had_ laughed, right? In a genuine way? He hadn’t realized he’d been zoning out on the man’s features until blue eyes connected with his, seemingly unphased by the staring – or too busy drowning in all that fear.

“U-um... do you think you could... well- like, after I get back from Sam’s... could you stay the night, maybe?” That vulnerable tone was back. Then, he didn’t exactly blush but he did adopt a small embarrassed twist of his mouth as he backpedaled. “N-Not like... I’m not-“ He sighed and dropped his gaze to his hands as if the lines of his palm were flashcards containing the vocabulary words he needed. “I don’t... trust myself to be a-alone tonight?” The last word lilting the statement into a question.

Shane skirted around the wooden bench that separated them and barreled into the other man, because _fuck_ if that wasn’t so raw and beautiful and _of course_ he’d stay the night, you stupid, idiot farmer. Derek kept his arms folded between them, warm hands clutching Shane’s shirt as he allowed himself to simply be enveloped.

“I could fall asleep like this,” he murmured into Shane’s shoulder.

The purple-haired man chuckled. “Not ‘til tonight. And sideways-“ _Oh, smooth,_ his mind chastised. “I-in bed,” he stammered. _Sure, keep going._ “I mean- like, sleeping... in a bed- your bed.” _Doing terrific._ He groaned in frustration and Derek was cackling and unfurling his arms to add to the hug’s pressure. “I’m a mess,” Shane grumbled.

“Yeah, but you’re _my_ mess,” the other giggled. Usually, the weird possessive phrases that were common between couples would make him cringe or become uncomfortable. But as per usual, Derek seemed to break a lot of his goddamn rules.

Shane hummed contentedly. “I think I could get used to that,” he mused.

And then Derek slipped something cool and slick in his hand. The red Speedo briefs.

In seconds, Shane’s face matched the hue of the fabric.

* * *

A few hours later, Derek was tapping a pencil on his chin. A blank sheet of notebook paper rested on an old _Monopoly_ game box in his lap. The other three members of the band were spread out similarly in Sam’s room, bearing down on various books or games the blonde could find. They were devoting this practice session to brainstorming song lyrics.

So far they had not a goddamn thing.

He felt his mind wandering and his eyes snuck a glance over to Sebastian. The man hadn’t necessarily been _un_ friendly so far; but he hadn’t been keen to say more than an initial ‘hey’. Which, he supposed, was to be expected.

Then, his mind wandered to what he’d seen right before he turned onto Sam’s street. On one of the benches beside the saloon, he’d seen Marnie and Gus in a deep discussion. It was weird seeing Gus outside the saloon – sometimes he wondered if the man ever got out except for festivals. What really stuck with him, though, was what the pair _didn’t_ see.

Mayor Lewis had stepped out to water his garden, Derek assumed. But when the old man’s gaze fell to the two on the bench, he froze and just _stared._ The farmer couldn’t make out any expression from that far away but the whole fleeting interaction was so peculiar that he might mention it to Shane. After all, they found out about Marnie and Lewis together that unfortunate morning.

Then, his nose scrunched in visible disgust as that cursed memory resurfaced.

“It smell musty in here or somethin’, man?” Sam’s voice drifted over to him. He had that wide, boyish grin on.

“Oh! No, sorry. Got distracted.” Then, the red-head smirked a bit. “But maybe if you wash your sheets every now and again-“

“My sheets are perfectly clean, thank you,” the blonde shot back with a snort.

“Black light might prove otherwise,” Sebastian mumbled down at his paper. Derek and Abigail laughed while Sam gave them all a half-hearted glare.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else offering up their space.”

Abigail groaned with an eye roll. “My dad would have a cow.”

“My place blows,” Sebastian grumbled.

Derek felt himself shrug. It hadn’t occurred to him that they might want to change practice areas every now and again. He’d always assumed they’d done it at Sam’s because that’s how they liked it. Apparently, it was more so that Sam was the _only_ option.

“I mean, we could always go to mine. It’s closer to Seb’s- Sebastian’s place,” he fumbled awkwardly. Derek felt like using his nickname wasn’t right. Not until they actually talked through their shit and made up. If that ever happened.

Sebastian didn’t reply, eyes still glued to his empty page. Then, the man made a show of looking at his watch before he stood with a sigh. “Mom wants me home early. Says Demetrius keeps complaining that ‘we never have family dinners anymore’. As if he gives a shit. Just wants me out of my room. Doesn’t respect my work at all.” He scuffed Sam’s rug with the toe of his sneaker, posture closed and defensive.

“You know we end in like ten minutes, right?” Abigail looked up at him with a confused expression. “Also, I thought you said your mom told him to get off your back about being down there.”

“Yeah, well... I’m kinda already late,” Sebastian grumbled. But despite this confession, he didn’t really seem to be in a hurry to leave. “’N yeah, she did... so he disguises it under shitty lies like ‘family dinners’, instead,” he scoffed. “I love her but I don’t understand why she doesn’t _leave_ him, already.” The man was gritting his teeth angrily and it began to feel like tension was filling the air; but the red-head couldn’t fathom why.

Suddenly, dark eyes locked onto Derek as he spoke. “They’re not in love!” Sebastian’s voice rose, gaze clouded with rage and hurt. “It’s not like they’re good for each other!” The farmer was startled by the sudden unwavering eye contact but he tried to play it cool. “They just... settle. Because he- _she_ thinks she doesn’t deserve more.” He tried not to read into that pronoun slip. Sebastian was just heated, obviously. He’d been talking fast and gotten tongue-tied, that’s all.

Derek felt like he should be saying something back if the dark-haired boy was going to rant _at_ him. “U-um, well... you love your mom, so... maybe just do the dinner for her? Not him?”

Sebastian scoffed unkindly. “And be complacent? Just sit here and pretend it doesn’t make me _fucking furious_ how awful that lowlife is?! What he hides from others that only I’ve been around long enough to see?!” He was yelling now, and Sam stood and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“H-hey, man, look. Let’s step outside, yeah? Have a smoke.”

“I _know_ him, Derek. I know what he’s like. You don’t know how fucked he is.”

And Derek was floundering because he was trying so hard, he truly was, but it was just so blatantly obvious that they weren’t talking about Demetrius anymore.

This time, it was Abigail who stood. Her voice was firm and authoritative, a stark contrast to her usual laid-back demeanor: “Sebastian.”

 _And_ she used his whole name. Yeah, Derek wasn’t reading too far into it – at some point this was about him and Shane. But he couldn’t just _say_ that out loud, because what would that make him? Insecure? Rubbing it in the man’s face? He tried to stick to the analogy instead and pretend he didn’t see it. If anything, maybe he could give Sebastian some actual advice about the genuine animosity he _did_ have with Demetrius.

“M-maybe just talk with her then, dude. Just... sit down with your mom and... and tell her you love her...” Yoba, this was going awful. But his pathetic brain was frying in his skull and he couldn’t stop staring into the agonizing swirl of emotions in Sebastian’s eyes. The emotions that seemed to be directed purely at him. “A-and be honest. If she doesn’t listen-“

“You don’t think I haven’t tried that?!” Sebastian interrupted. “ _Yoba,_ Derek. And what makes you think you’re even qualified to give parental advice, huh?”

Derek’s entire body jerked back like he’d been socked in the jaw. His breath left his lungs and he was suddenly scrambling on the floor, against limbs that wouldn’t support him anymore. He had to get _out_ of here; he had to _get out_ and _get out right now._

All of the color left Sebastian’s face as he realized what he’d said and the farmer might have seen the anger in his eyes replaced by other emotions, but he couldn’t think straight enough to decipher them – he just had to leave.

“Sh- no- I meant- Derek, wait-“

“ _Sebastian, what the fuck is wrong with you?!”_ Abigail screamed.

As his jelly-like legs finally quit buckling underneath him, he saw pale hands swiping at ghost-white cheeks but that didn’t matter because he was moving _,_ propelling himself out of any door that was in his way. As he stepped outside, he wasn’t even sure where he was going but he was going as quick as his legs could carry him.

Footsteps approached him rapidly and hands were on his shoulders, spinning him around. To face Sam whose face was twisted in _more_ emotions he couldn’t pick apart. But the look reminded him of a mother who’d just saved her toddler from walking into oncoming traffic.

“Derek, I-I’m sorry... I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s _never_ -“ The blonde shook his head briskly. “Look, just- are you okay?”

“I-I-I n-need to go.” He stuttered, trying to get out of Sam’s death grip. “Need to go.” Finally wrenching himself free, he turned on his heel and vaguely recognized the building on his right. The building that wasn’t far enough away from Sam’s bedroom.

He heard Sam call his name again. Maybe some other words but he couldn’t register them.

A door opened.

More footsteps approaching him – already too close to run from. Hands on his shoulders again but they were bigger than Sam’s. And their owner smelled like hay. _Scarecrow,_ he thought deliriously. The figure slid in front of him and their bigger hands that smelled like animal feed cupped his face but his eyes were already closed.

“Derek!” they yelled, shaking his whole head slightly. “Damn it, Red, let me in!”

_Red._

His eyes shot open.

Green.

“Shane?” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to the cliffhanger aaaaahhh!!
> 
> Also, yes, Sebby fucked up but he is precious and is going through a lot so please be patient with him <3


	25. If Deities Exist, They Have Fiery Curls and a Sharp Tongue*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW! Big one! The biggest so far and likely the last for a little while (though you can begin to start expecting more Mature flirting to emerge every now and again).
> 
> OH BUT HEY WE HIT 100K WORDS! NEVER THOUGHT I'D WRITE THAT MUCH BUT HERE WE ARE HOLY SHIT  
> Also sorry if my chapter titles are getting obnoxious. xx
> 
> This chapter is the emotional equivalent to Chapter 17 (Shane's attempt) or at least verrrry close to it.  
> Also I'm updating this on my birthday and, as a treat, I will commence Not Thinking about my sins.
> 
> Enjoy!

As he watched Derek’s face finally fill with recognition, Sam caught up and the man was panting, bending to rest his hands on his knees. A million questions raced through Shane’s mind as he felt multiple emotions racing through him: Fear that Derek was slipping away for some reason, confusion at what the fuck was going on, anger at the fact the farmer had just been sprinting from band practice – a slight indication as to what might’ve happened. Shane supposed he could start with the confusion.

“What the fuck is going on?!” He shouted at Sam, glaring. The kid finally straightened up, drawing a deep breath of air into his lungs.

“I don’t-“ he stammered. “Seb. Angry... at his step dad.” Yoba, his coworker wasn’t making any goddamn _sense._ Shane turned back to his boyfriend, realizing his eyes only held half the sentience they usually did. What did Sebastian’s step dad have to do with anything, though?

“Derek, what happened?” He pleaded, curling a loose fist to tug gently at the red roots of those curls in a vain hope that the sensation would ground the other man.

The farmer’s voice sounded like a strange echo of itself: “D’you know I killed my parents?” _What the **fuck**? _He recoiled slightly in shock, though still keeping his hands in Derek’s hair and on his face. Shane and Sam shared a look of utter disbelief.

“Wh-what?” Shane’s voice broke.

Derek just nodded, pulling the hand embedded in his hair with it. “Mhm. They woulda been fine on the 7 o’clock flight. But I made ‘em switch to nine,” he explained in a monotone voice. “Then, they died.” The way he said the last three words like he were reading off a shitty script – void of emotion – sent a chill up his spine.

Shane turned back to Sam, admittedly a bit relieved that he hadn’t _actually_ fallen in love with some axe murderer. But this was still extremely fucking bad. What the hell had gone on in Sam’s bedroom?

“Sam, you need to be straight with me here,” he growled. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t _know!”_ the kid cried out. “I don’t know why Seb said that! I’ve never seen him that _angry-“_

“Tell me what he said, Samuel!” Like a trained soldier, the use of his full name brought instant sobriety to his features and though he still stammered, he got the story out.

And Shane was absolutely _livid._ Even more livid than when Marnie told him about Lewis. When Sam saw his expression, his eyes widened until you could see the whites of them. Shane’s legs made to move toward the blonde’s house but they faltered. He couldn’t leave Derek here to drift into his own head. So he forced his eyes from their death glare at Jodi’s place to the icy blue of the farmer’s.

“You didn’t kill anyone, okay?” Shane said with as much gentleness as he could force through the rage. “Let’s get you home.” Derek’s head barely moved as he nodded numbly.

“Oh, _shit_.” Sam hissed. Shane’s head snapped up to follow his gaze. Sebastian stumbled out of Jodi’s house, Abigail in tow. The man was clutching at his temples in distress as the drummer threw her arms in the air in wild, fierce gestures. He couldn’t hear what she was saying but she was definitely yelling.

But that was all he was able to observe before rage clouded his senses and he began moving so damn _fast._

“ _What gives you the right?!”_ Shane heard himself roar as he rapidly advanced. Both of them turned to him from Sam’s porch and Abigail jumped into action, sprinting towards him. He looked past her to Sebastian. He was a bull in a China shop and the lanky prick had skin of fine porcelain. “ _What gives you the motherfucking **right**?!”_

Footsteps from behind rushed after him and at the same time Abigail blocked him from the front, hands held him from behind by the elbows. He hadn’t even realized his fists were balled.

“Shane!” Abigail yelled to try and get his attention. He ignored her. “Shane, Sebastian fucked up big time, okay?” _Yeah, no shit. Which is why I’m gonna go over there and-_ “But you can’t lose it, Shane. You know Derek wouldn’t want that.” _Derek._ It snapped him into a bit more sobriety, hearing the red-head’s name. Because if Abigail were here and Sam was behind him, then who was keeping an eye on-

Shane jerked his body around, nearly knocking Sam over in the process.

Derek was gone.

“ _Fuck!”_ he screamed. He vaguely registered Sam’s curse when the kid noticed, too. Shane had to find him. Yoba knows where he’d gone but there was no way he could be alone right now. It seemed rage had a bit more left, though, and he again whipped his body around to Sebastian, who was frozen on the porch. “ _You see what you’ve done?! If he hurts himself, it’s on you! And you’re gonna hafta fuckin’ live with that!”_

Shane didn’t even register that he’d hinted at a secret that wasn’t his to tell. All he cared about was finding his distraught boyfriend. And knocking Sebastian into next week, perhaps.

“What do you mean-“

Abigail cut Sam’s panicked question off. “Go walk Sebastian home,” she commanded firmly. Then to Shane: “Let’s go find him.”

Sam shot them both a look of terrified concern but he fell into his role without question, sprinting over to the man on his porch and throwing the occasional worried glance over his shoulder at them. Then, Abigail was speaking again. How did she manage to keep herself so calm? So orderly?

“I’ll check the farm and the house, you look down here. We’ll call each other when we find him. Give me your number.” _Huh? Oh, right._ Shane hastily dug his phone out and they exchanged numbers before dashing off in separate directions.

Shane’s heart pounded in his chest as his footfalls pounded the forest floor.

_Please be okay. Please be okay. Yoba, please just let him be okay._

* * *

The relief he felt when he saw a familiar shape sitting on the dock almost made his knees buckle as Shane ran over to him. But he forced himself to slow last second, wary of spooking the farmer into the lake or something.

“Derek,” he called softly. The man didn’t move. Shane was beside him now, carefully lowering himself to sit at his side. His head was bowed slightly, looking at the waters of Cindersap. It was almost like a role-reversal of that night they shared last season, he thought idly. Except there was no beer this time, for better or for worse. “Hey...” he tried again.

Finally, Derek moved. His head lifted to the sky and Shane tried to get a glimpse of his eyes to see if... well, if anyone was home. Swallowing hard, he gingerly reached a hand out to direct Derek’s chin to face him. The man flinched slightly, which might be a good sign, before allowing his blues to meet Shane. And relief threatened to crush him again when he saw life swimming there. But he still looked so _shattered_ that it tugged at his already feeble heart.

“Shane...” the voice rasped – a primary source; no longer an echo. “Remember when we came here... way back...”

“In spring,” Shane finished.

Derek nodded slowly. “You told me... you were stuck in... in a rut. And you didn’t know if... if you wanted to climb out.” Shane winced at the memory. So much had changed in such a short period of time, hadn’t it? Because wasn’t he now actively trying to climb out? Weren’t he _and_ Derek doing just that by vowing to call Harvey’s therapist recommendations?

“I remember,” he whispered. “I... I don’t think I feel like that anymore. At least, not lately.”

“I do.”

_Oh._

“W-We’re gonna call the people Harvey suggested, okay? Like we agreed earlier this morning.”

Derek shook his head. “What’s the point? What if it doesn’t even work?”

Shane shook his stubborn, little face and grit his teeth. “ _Damn it,_ Red, follow your own advice for once? You can’t know until you try.” The farmer looked like he were about to retort but he cut him off. “Look, Sebastian is a colossal dick, okay? He had no business talkin’ to you like that. But I know...” He trailed off briefly when his voice threatened to tremor. “I know what it’s like... to drown in your own head. And... it’s okay if... if you... it’s okay to _not_ feel okay,” he huffed. “But we’re gonna learn how to deal with the fucked up hand we were dealt. Okay?” Shane shook him again slightly. “And... I’ll _be_ here with you.”

Derek sat staring into his eyes for a long while. Silent but still here. Shane wished he could read minds in that moment – just to see if anything was resonating. He wanted so bad to be able to help with his words. Finally, the red-head sighed and he looked suddenly five years older and utterly exhausted.

“Shane, can we go home now?” Something about that sentence struck him right in the chest. Like they were already living together. He shook his head to try and refocus himself because now was not the time to dwell on that.

“Yeah, let me just call Abby real quick. Let her know you’re alright.” Shane held his phone in his left hand after dialing the girl’s number, circling his right arm around Derek’s waist comfortingly.

_“Found him?”_

“Yeah. He’s not hurt but... it’s not good. At all.” He paused. “I really might kill Sebastian.” She scoffed down the line.

_“Don’t think that’d go over well with... the law and whatnot.”_

He grunted in response.

 _“But, for the record, I_ am _gonna kick his ass. Look, I gotta get home. My dad’s probably freaked because I was supposed to be home an hour ago. Tell Derek to text me tomorrow or something. Goodnight, Shane.”_

“Yeah, okay. ‘Night, Abby.”

His phone beeped as they hung up.

“Usin’ her nickname.” He turned to see the barest hint of an amused smile on Derek’s lips. “Growin’ on you, ain’t she?”

Shane only gave an affirmative hum before standing – left knee beginning to voice its boisterous complaints. He stuck his hand out toward Derek, smiling when it was taken as the farmer rose to his feet.

Their hands stayed linked all the way back to the farm, both of their postures hunched under a compounded weight.

* * *

“’S it okay if I sleep in my boxers?” Derek asked softly. “I get warm at night.”

“Y-yeah, yeah... whatever you need to get comfortable...” Wasn’t like Shane hadn’t seen more of him, right? He still found himself turning out of respect as the farmer stepped out of his clothes. A move that was made even more ridiculous when he had to turn back and face him anyways when he spoke up:

“You can, too, if you want. Or I might have sweatpants and a shirt you can borrow if you really like wearing pajamas.” No, Shane didn’t. In fact, he also only slept in his underwear. But some irrational part of him still felt like a creep for wanting to share a bed with the half-naked farmer while he was also underdressed. _He’s seen you nude, you moron,_ he chastised himself.

Sighing, he stripped off his pants and his shirt, immediately crossing his arms over his midsection. God, he was being pathetic.

“Stop that,” Derek nearly whined, grabbing Shane’s wrists and tugging them away. The red-head held them tight as he walked backwards toward the bed, pulling the purple-haired man with him. “You first,” he requested. Shane chuckled and shook his head as he slid underneath the covers to lay on his side, facing the gorgeous figure standing over him. Derek’s mouth curved into such a soft and affectionate smile that Shane blushed in the dark. The farmer got into bed, then, too. For a minute, they just faced each other and said nothing – studying each other’s face as they tried to process the events of the evening.

It was Shane who broke first: “It’s kinda surreal,” he admitted. “Lying next to you.”

Derek’s smile grew wider and he inched closer, close enough for their lips to brush together as he spoke. “Well, believe it,” he whispered. “’Cause you got me, Shane.”

In response, he pressed his lips against the farmer’s in a long but relatively stationary kiss. They pulled away agonizingly slow, soft mouths gradually departing with a tiny pluck. Then, Derek sighed with that tired smile still plastered on his face as he rolled over and nuzzled his back into Shane’s front, sinking slightly further down the sheets so that his red curls could nestle underneath the other man’s chin.

Shane curled an arm underneath Derek while his other one draped across his stomach and chest, holding him tight.

“This is nice...” Derek mumbled, voice slurring slightly with sleep. “Could do this ev’ry night for the rest of my life, prolly.”

And Shane’s breath caught, trying not to let his brain sully the words. Trying to let himself just _believe_ them. He squeezed the farmer briefly in response, relishing in the hum he drew out from the man.

“Love you, too, Red,” he whispered.

**Derek**

_“- **let me die**!”_

_Each sharp word nailed into his gut, twisting barbed wires of terror around his insides. He kept his footsteps silent, gradually creeping closer._

_Closer to the figure teetering on the edge of the cliffs._

_Only, he wasn’t teetering anymore – he was_ falling.

_Derek sprinted the last meter._

_He saw the man’s body tip past the point of no return._

_His arm shot out._

_And circled around air._

_The farmer screamed, eyes glued to the scene that would permanently break his sanity. All he could do was shriek Shane’s name over._

_And over._

_And over._

_Until it wasn’t coherent anymore._

_It was just screaming._

_He was just-_

-screaming. In the dark?

“Derek! Derek, wake up!” Someone was shaking him violently, attacking him. He fought back, slapping at whatever his hands could come into contact with as he bolted from his bed.

_His bed._

Then, the cortisol from his nightmare faded enough to let a bit more of reality back in. He was standing in his bedroom. And on his bed, his assailant looked at him with wide, concern-filled eyes. But that didn’t make sense because hadn’t that man just-

“You’re safe.” Shane spoke slowly. “It’s me.” Right, because Derek’s arm _hadn’t_ missed that day.

He began trembling violently as the knowledge of what had just happened sunk into him. “Oh f- Shane, I’m so sorry.” And then he was sobbing because how could he admit to the nightmares he’d been having in secret? They had finally been ebbing away and even getting less intense and he’d been almost sure they were petering out for good. Last night’s events must have riled his brain up to the point of bringing them back with a vengeance. But if he dared tell Shane, could the man even handle that? Would the guilt even let him _look_ at Derek after that?

Then, large, warm arms were cradling him as he cried and he just wanted to go back to sleep and never dream again. A familiar hand rubbed circles into his back. He loved when Shane did that. Then, they pulled back a bit so that his boyfriend’s green eyes could look at him directly.

“You-“ Shane’s voice faltered. “You were, um... you were s-sayin’... my name?” As the face in front of him began going whiter in color, Derek knew what he must’ve been mumbling in his sleep. Betrayed by his own unconscious mouth.

He tugged at his red hair that was matted with sweat, gritting his teeth. “ _Fuck!_ I’m so sorry, Shane. I... I thought th-they’d stopped but- I- I’m sorry. Please... don’t-“

“Can you tell me?” The other man’s voice came out soft, thick with emotion.

Derek shook his head, fists yanking at curls so hard that he’d probably withdraw several broken strands. “No, no, no, no,” he chanted, almost to himself. “No, I... I can’t do that t-to you.”

Shane’s hands moved up to massage the anguished fists, rubbing into the hardened knuckles until they loosened from his touch. When Derek’s hands were cleaned of the anticipated loose hair and intertwined with Shane’s, he finally let himself look up into sad, green eyes.

“No secrets,” the man whispered. “If we’re gonna... _stay_... we can’t keep secrets.” Then, he paused for a moment before he sighed and in those sad, green eyes, Derek saw a dread. A dread that told him his boyfriend already had an inkling of what sort of dream might make the farmer yell his name and then wail in agony. “The cliffs?”

Derek nodded and Shane’s eyes closed – but not before he saw the excruciating remorse that seemed to suck color from them. His lips seemed dry, the red-head noticed, as he breathed: “Tell me.”

Then, Derek closed his eyes, too, and squeezed the hands he held tightly. “S-some nights... I dream you just... vanish,” he croaked. “Gone. Right before my eyes.” He paused as Shane’s grip strengthened momentarily. “S-sometimes, though... l-like tonight... I dream that I wasn’t fast enough. Like... like my arm moves in slow-motion.” A sob choked him and he brought their linked hands so Shane’s knuckles pressed against his weeping eyelids. “The worst ones are when I see... I see what my mind pictures it would... it would look like if-“

And then Shane was on his knees, almost jerking Derek down with him, as he collapsed into his own silent sobs. Damn it, he knew this would be a bad idea. But what was the alternative?

“I’m such a piece of shit,” Shane hissed through tears. “I _hate_ myself for what”—he hiccupped—“I did... and to know that you have to... keep _seein’-“_

Derek dropped to a kneeling position, hovering just over Shane’s lap as he pulled the man’s head into his chest and rocked them both. Yoba, it seemed they cried all the fucking time now. Could they not catch a goddamn _break?_

“Stop it.” Derek tried his best to make his tone firm. “They won’t last, Shane. I just... just gotta work through that day. Just like you do.” He pulled the purple head of hair off his chest so he could tilt the face up toward him. His stomach knotted to see the old, wilting look that Shane’s face used to hold after he’d drank too much. Derek couldn’t let him go back to that. He _wouldn’t_ let him. “And we will. We’ve said this to each other a million fuckin’ times now, but we _will_ get through this.” The red-head planted a quick kiss on his forehead. “The dreams don’t mean _shit_ to me. Because they’re not real. This is.”

Derek smoothed his hands across Shane’s cheeks, fingers ghosting over tear-moistened lips and the tense lines etched into his forehead; mapping him out. “ _This_ is,” he repeated. “You. Are...” The farmer felt his eyelids flutter for a moment and his voice drop an octave with the emotional weight of what he needed to say. “The _love_ of my life.” And as the words came out, he was trembling under their intensity.

And Shane’s green eyes got their vibrancy back tenfold as his lips parted, panting like he’d gotten back from a light jog.

“I am?” his boyfriend asked in a breathy sort of squeak.

In reply, Derek nodded emphatically before collapsing down fully into Shane’s lap and draping himself over him, burying his face into the man’s neck and breathing in the earthy, masculine scent that made his head spin delightfully.

In that moment, something shifted. Like the turning of a page. Or a key in a lock.

And with it, Shane’s extraordinarily strong and calloused hands were smoldering up and down Derek’s back and sides. “I love you so much,” Shane whined. His hands squeezed intermittently around any square inch of skin they traced. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Between Shane’s fiery touch and inebriating incense, Derek drowned in sensation. The heartfelt words drew a groan out of his lungs.

The man beneath him was panting harder. “I love you, I love you...” he chanted under his breath. And Shane’s scorching hands trailed to the back of his boxers and gripped palmfuls of his flesh, still murmuring those three words like a prayer. An atheist worshipping like a pious bishop, his pulse hammering under Derek’s lips.

And a longer, more pronounced groan tumbled from Derek as he felt Shane’s groin pressing into him, his body showing what his words were saying. The farmer ground his hips down, vaguely aware of his own hardness rubbing against Shane’s deliciously soft middle as his pelvis rolled. They both locked eyes and moaned loudly, inches from each other’s face. Shane had stopped being able to produce his chant so it was scripted in green calligraphy, instead.

As Derek’s grinding became more feverish, feeling that erection prodding at him, he captured Shane’s lips in a languid open-mouthed kiss. He was panting now, too, most of his exhales coming out as audible whimpers. And he longed to give himself to Shane completely – more so than they’d done on Saturday. He longed for the true union of their bodies that would solidify their hymns and christen their bond.

“Shane,” he purred into his lover’s mouth. “I trust you.” When the man pulled back to look at him after those words, his eyes were almost black with how much love-drunk lust clouded there. “I want... to feel...” he husked. “Every inch of you.” He punctuated his statement with a particularly demanding rut against the throbbing that pulsed underneath him. “Show me what’s real, Shane.”

Shane’s blood-red lips were swollen and they shined with the dew of early Monday’s moonlight. And Derek was just as wasted as his lover.

Then, he was being lifted and tossed onto the bed on his back. His heavy and cozy blankets couldn’t hold a candle to Shane, though. Shane, who ripped off both of their boxers without remorse or hesitation. Derek was glad the man had swallowed down his self-consciousness earlier and forgone the pajamas.

“Do you have a...” Shane husked, trying to finish the sentence. “’M all clear but-“

Derek was clean, too. And he said so. He’d never had much of a sex life anyway. And then Shane stole his senses again as he melted on top of him. Hot fingers trailed goosebumps down the farmer’s shivering torso, drawing small whimpers and wisps of breath.

“You drive me fucking crazy, Red,” Shane growled, pumping his hips so their rock-hard lengths slid against each other. Then, Derek felt hot breath in his ear: “Feel how crazy I am for you?” his boyfriend asked with a seductive nip to his earlobe. And the farmer’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head, mouth dropping open and he nodded numbly. “Fuck, I love the faces you make.”

Derek groaned. “If you... keep on talkin’ like that,” he panted. “’M gonna finish before we’ve even... done anything.” A low rumble of amusement vibrated through Shane at that.

Then, the farmer felt him slide down his body, a warm tongue marking a wet breadcrumb trail past his chest, around his navel, and-

“ _Shane!”_ he cried out as lips wrapped around the head of his weeping cock. He was milliseconds from the brink in an instant but the other man backed off with a soft _pop._

“Not yet,” he smirked at the red-head. Then, Derek’s legs were lifted and spread. Shane looked at his most private of regions and the hum he made was almost musical. With barely any time to catch on, Derek gasped sharply, feeling that tongue flicking over his hole and lapping in earnest.

He made a quite high-pitched keening noise and looked down to see a crop of purple hair bobbing up and down as his mouth lashed back and forth. Then, he realized Shane’s shoulder was also moving and he cried out again at the realization that the man was touching himself while he devoured the farmer. Once again teetering on the edge with a sudden slam, he shouted a warning.

Shane shot up, smiling almost sheepishly. “Sorry, got carried away,” he mumbled quietly. The fucker was still stroking himself, his hand barely able to wrap around his own thickness. Derek bit his lip harshly and pointed to his bedside drawer. Shane opened it hastily and withdrew a bottle of lube, hooded eyes falling back to Derek. The cap opened with a sharp click and the spot where Shane’s mouth had been was replaced with a slick finger that dipped into him, exploring with visible awe.

The farmer hissed before relaxing into the intrusion. Another digit soon joined and Derek whimpered when he was pulled back from the edge a third time as the hand withdrew from his heat.

“Shane,” he whined, almost pleading. He palmed himself hungrily, rolling his hips up into his own grasp. Shane batted his hand away before cascading his own up to Derek’s chest to spread a fiery layer of adoration into his muscles.

“Patience,” the man commanded with a smirk. He spread the lube on his cock as Derek watched, the slick sounds filling the air and making him throb and twitch in anticipation. Finally, Shane leaned over and lined himself up. “Ready?” he whispered, dark violet hair threatening to obscure his face before Derek slicked it back and held it in a fist.

“Yes, _fuck._ Quit teasin’,” he groaned out.

That made Shane chuckle low as he pushed the head of his dick against him, moving slow but steady. “So _needy,”_ he snarked. But the farmer didn’t register the comment as his jaw dropped and he felt the pressure and slight pain wash over him before it gradually morphed into pleasure. Shane made the loudest noise of bliss that Derek had ever heard and he felt hips against his own, indicating he was all the way in.

His vision enhanced briefly like he’d drank another mugful of Rasmodius’s potion and he marveled at the sight of Shane’s head craned back to face the ceiling, beads of sweat glinting like gems as they rolled down his skin.

“ _Yoba,”_ the man above him croaked. “You feel so...”

“ _Yeah.”_

It was a few moments before Shane started moving again. But when he did, Derek’s ability to form words disintegrated and he was reduced to lewd noises and a permanently open mouth. He felt the thick head of Shane’s erection hitting the sweet spot inside him repeatedly while he watched his own cock pour precum onto his heaving stomach.

“I love you, Derek. I love you so much,” Shane was chanting under his breath again as he dipped his head to view the place where they were connected. With another wanton growl, he lowered slightly and braced himself on arms that coiled with straining muscle as he picked up the pace to a maddening speed that oddly had Derek’s lips moving again.

“Love... y’too... _uhn-“_ His words were punctuated with sharp cries as Shane’s hips pounded him into the mattress and gave him the most wonderful filled feeling that made him slowly lose his mind.

They finally locked eyes again and Derek cupped his face as they both shook wildly with Shane’s thrusts. “You’re my... everything,” he said, deliriously – words that he usually kept confined to the sappy part of his mind being coaxed out through the white-hot euphoria coursing through him.

“I’m gonna-“ Shane warned. Derek instantly gripped himself and began stroking furiously, while also hooking his legs around his lover’s waist to keep him there.

“ _Yes._ With me. Inside me,” he demanded, jaw dropping again.

Derek drowned in green eyes that bore into him with a passion that similarly coated Shane’s words: “Cum with me, Red.” Then, a tongue flooded into his open mouth and he lost it with an embarrassingly loud wail that filled the entire farmhouse as he came so hard that he saw bright flashes of light flare into his vision. He was dimly aware that his earth-shattering orgasm made him clench around Shane, who roared at the sensation and embedded himself to the hilt, swelling briefly before coming in several long spurts.

Shane gave a few more shallow pumps as he softened, collapsing his full furnace of a body on top of Derek and resuming his three-word prayer against the shell of his ear. When the red-head came down from his high, he held their sweaty and exhausted bodies together and cooed the phrase back against a strong shoulder.

Eventually, the farmer felt Shane slip out of him and rise up slightly to look down at the mess that Derek had poured between them, raising his eyebrow with a timid blush.

“Needa clean up,” Shane muttered, quietly chuckling. It was fascinating how the man who’d just made such flaming and emotional love to him had suddenly snapped back into his usual shy and modest self. It was really like a switch that flicked on and off – leaving behind only the bible of devotion he’d written for them. Then, his adorably bashful boyfriend was gently lifting off to start leading them to the bathroom and Derek whined at the cold that rushed to replace him. “Come on, you big baby,” Shane teased. “We ain’t sleepin’ like animals.”

“We just fucked like animals,” he shot back. But it was more than something that crude and both men couldn’t deny that for a second.

Shane chortled. “You’re impossible.” He grabbed the farmer’s hands and yanked him into a sitting position. “Geddup, you fuckin’ oaf.” Derek laughed and made a show of begrudgingly getting on his feet. Then, he winced slightly and it didn’t go unnoticed. “What?”

The farmer smiled sweetly at the concerned tone. “Just, uh... gonna be sore,” he snickered. Shane’s cheeks burned a deep red which made Derek tip his head back with more laughter at how ridiculous it was for him to be so _sheepish_ after he’d just been balls-deep in him. “You’re such a _dork,”_ he wheezed.

Shane shot him a half-hearted glare and slapped him across the ass, eliciting a gasp. “Shut up and get movin’.” His voice was rough but he couldn’t hide that amused smirk.

Derek started walking out of the bedroom, sighing dramatically. “A man comes in you once and thinks he can boss you around,” he complained with a disdainful shake of his head.

“Sometimes you need it,” Shane quipped with a pleased huff. They got to the bathroom and Derek flicked on the light, making them both flinch. “Who knows what you’d do otherwise,” he joked.

The farmer let out an abrupt and honest chuckle at that as he bent to turn the shower on. “True. Who knows what I’d do without you?” He turned to see Shane click his tongue and roll his eyes as he made a poor attempt at hiding the reflexive disbelief. “I mean it!” Derek said, earnestly, closing the distance between them. He grabbed his boyfriend’s hand and dragged him toward the cascading water.

“More like what the fuck would I do without _you?”_ Shane mumbled, stepping under the warm stream with him. His hands ran through Derek’s curls, sending waterfalls through them. “Never thought I’d get something that was... even a _fraction_ of this.” The soft voice and gentle fingers were lulling the red-head into something dangerously close to sleep. “Told myself I’d never deserve it.”

“You’re startin’ to make me hate that word ‘deserve’,” Derek said with a small smile.

As the sun rose over the farm, they took a full hour cleaning up not just the aftermath of the sex, but also the nightmares, the panic attacks, the emotional distress, and – in continuation of the long journey ahead – all of their bullshit notions of what they “deserved”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotion machine go brrrrrrr


	26. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have no sense of self-control with these chapter lengths sometimes. We have another record-setter here at 6.4k words. 
> 
> Also, I want to mention that every event has been happening in direct correlation to the in-game calendars. As a result a year is technically only four months. So, sometimes, you'll see a character say "a month" - but that's a month according to our time relativity, not Stardew's. It's confusing, I know, but otherwise everything just seems to evolve so quickly.
> 
> With this in mind, though, I've been thinking of linking a few pictures of the game's calendars and marking them to illustrate which of these story's events are happening where. I think it'd be kind of fun to lay out exactly how they've panned out across the seasons. Would that be something you all would be interested in? Let me know!

After their mutual adulation in the wee hours of Monday, they’d showered with languid, caring touches, and slept until late morning. When they’d finally awoke, they spent a long time going through Harvey’s “shrink list”.

After a lot of crossed off names – a couple weren’t taking patients, one wasn’t specialized in addiction and alcoholism, several were too expensive, and a few more just seemed _off_ when they spoke on the phone – they finally found someone who actually fit both of their criteria.

Dr. Lisa Montgomery was a psychiatrist _and_ a Licensed to Care Social Worker who was well versed in trauma therapy, grief counseling, complex depression and mood disorders, and dissociative disorders. She seemed gentle and warm; and both of them admitted later that they’d instantly found her voice oddly soothing and grounding. She had also just had three clients leave her care – a family she’d been treating in tandem had moved to another state.

That was when she’d offered to take them both in and it was almost exciting enough to quell their nerves. The catch was she only did weekdays. Specifically, the only day she had open in lieu of the recent vacancy was Thursday afternoons at 3PM. The first session would be both of them together for an hour. But each subsequent week they would have back-to-back hour-long sessions separately with her. Though, she’d added, they were always welcome to request another joint appointment at any point they felt necessary.

And it was an absolutely brilliant arrangement. Which was why Shane had become instantly agitated as he bitterly explained that there was probably no way in hell he could get off work every Thursday. But Dr. Montgomery met his anger with gentle inquiries about what he needed most in his life right now. She’d asked him to imagine putting aside concerns of employment or money and ask himself honestly if it would be healthier for him to pursue therapy or continue at Joja. That was a no-brainer, of course, but Shane insisted it wasn’t that _easy_ because he could only put aside those very real concerns in her hypothetical scenario – the reality was much less flexible. He was trapped.

Then, Derek bluntly said that he’d prefer Shane unemployed, but alive and _healthy_ than back at the cliffs.

And the farmer had just hinted at his attempt to the stranger who sat on the other end of the line but he hadn’t cared much. Because he really couldn’t argue with that, could he? Was there even a way for him to choose the first option? Guess he wouldn’t know unless he tried, Derek’s mantra repeated.

Derek booked the appointment for the first Thursday in fall, the week of his return to JojaMart. Dr. Montgomery said if they did decide to cancel, they could do so free of charge up until 24 hours before the appointment. With that, they’d said their goodbyes and hung up.

The next six days were the most comfortable and genuinely delightful hours Shane had seen since... well, ever, really. He spent his afternoons and evenings with Marnie and Jas, taking the hours before Jas got home to take care of the ranch’s large chicken coop and work on his secret project. Then, he’d hold Derek’s words of affirmation with him as he braved the trips into town to pick up his daughter from school.

It was these words that helped him get through the only speed bump he’d hit that week: Wednesday’s visit to Jas’s classroom and the subsequent interaction with Penny.

_He’d turned up to the library and stepped in, eyes scanning for a familiar head of black hair and finding it almost instantly as her head snapped up to address the sound of the door opening. She’d sprung up from her seat and began haphazardly stuffing things into her purple backpack._

_“Miss Penny, my dad’s here!” she’d chirped. He’d never get sick of hearing her say that word and he found himself smiling despite his nerves. “Can I go?”_

_The timid ginger had rose to her feet and began to smooth down her skirt anxiously. “One minute, Jas,” she’d said sweetly. “I need to chat with him for a minute, okay? Make sure you pack up nicely! Don’t want to lose another assignment, do we?” Shane’s mind had begun swirling with questions at her words; and he’d watched Jas’s face fall into shy embarrassment as she’d shook her head._

_It was then he’d noticed he was still standing in the doorway and he’d shuffled in, awkwardly closing the door behind himself. Penny had strolled over and led them to a bit more private area of the library so the kids wouldn’t overhear. She’d pulled a neatly folded letter from her pocket, avoiding eye contact all the while, and offered it to him._

_“Could you give this to Marnie?” she’d asked. “I’ve had some minor concerns about Jasmine, lately. Nothing major but she should know, regardless.” Wondering if he were hearing her right, he’d stood there with his hands in his pockets, not making a move to take the paper. His hesitation had made her finally look at him and he’d raised his eyebrow at her._ You’re fuckin’ kidding me, _he’d thought._

_Those words had almost repeated into the tangible world before he’d hastily revised them last minute. “Am I not standing in front of you right now?” he’d retorted. “Tell me what’s going on.” Penny’s eyes dropped again and she’d fidgeted uncomfortably, setting her jaw._

_Her voice had been soft but slightly accusatory: “Marnie’s usually the one to pick her up-“_

_“She’s my daughter, Penny,” he’d growled. Did she really think so little of Shane as to undermine him to his face?_ Don’t get so cocky, _the darkness in his mind had threatened._ You’ve earned every ounce of their belittling. _And he’d begun faltering because maybe he_ was _getting too bold. A few steps forward and he had the audacity to believe he’d made a giant leap? That he wasn’t a shit stain who’d been graced with a few spritzes of Febreeze? He was meant to convince her he’d spontaneously changed?_

_That’s when Derek’s voice had entered his mind, cutting through the rising anger and self-doubt. It told him he owed the mousy woman nothing. It told him to hold his ground and believe what the people that actually cared about him said he’d earned because the necrosis in his skull was a dirty liar. That anyone else’s words didn’t mean shit because they might not blatantly lie like his depression; but they certainly didn’t know near enough to tell him any truths._

_So he’d taken a deep breath and dared to let his progress be however much he needed it to be – because damn it all, he had to start_ somewhere _. “Jasmine is_ my _kid, and if she’s having issues, it’s_ me _who needs to know.”_

 _He’d have found more hatred for her during this, probably. But at the end of the day, nosy and audacious in her assumptions as she was, she was still the reason Jas was getting an education. And a part of him begrudgingly knew_ why _she disliked him. He was probably a constant reminder of her mother, who might never attempt to divorce her bar stool. And if their living situation were any indication, he’d hedge a bet that she’d grown up a neglected daughter, at best._

_They’d stood there, not looking at each other for a few tense moments before she’d sighed and unfolded the letter for him to read. Her neat penmanship filled the whole page but she’d summarized it in a few sentences:_

_“She’s been misplacing her homework more and more, lately. I’m afraid it’s making her grades slip. She’s incredibly bright and I hate to see something so easily fixable hold her back,” she’d quietly explained._

_Shane had nodded, still not taking the offensive gesture of the letter and instead moving his head so she’d be forced to at least fucking_ look _at him. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t keep happening. That all?” he’d asked in a tight, clipped voice. She’d simply nodded, cheeks slightly flushed in an embarrassment she hadn’t been able to stifle anymore._

_And he’d made sure she’d been able to watch as he met his excited daughter who wrapped herself around his legs before reaching with expectant hands to be hoisted up._

_He’d made sure she’d been able to listen as he spoke in a serious tone to Jas: “Miss Penny says you’ve been losing your papers. We’re gonna work on that organization of yours when we get home, alright, kiddo?”_

_He’d made sure she’d been able to see the way he punctuated his light scolding with an affection peck to her little forehead while she’d wrapped her thin arms around his neck and mumbled something apologetic._

_And he’d made sure she’d been able to catch the pointed look he gave her as he carried his_ incredibly bright _child and asserted his position in her life for the first time to anyone besides the people who he already had on his side. The people who told him he_ earned _that position._

_Finally, he’d made sure she’d been able to gather enough gossip to spread around town as she’d undoubtedly tell her friends all about the dead-beat, alcoholic ‘Uncle Shane’ who was trying to con everyone into believing that he was suddenly the ever-present, sober ‘dad’. Even though – she might add reluctantly – she couldn’t deny the absence of bags under his eyes that her mother still wore proudly. Or the skin of his face that wasn’t sickly pale and sunken in like the one she shared a home with. Or the stench that no longer lingered like a mist around him – a mist that had permeated even her sober bedroom._

_He would personally never spend a second judging Pam. Shane knew how easily he would’ve been her if no one had taken the time of day to show him he didn’t have to be. And he knew it was petty and anger-fueled; but despite not perpetuating the cycle of vilifying the broken, he_ did _momentarily perpetuate the cycle of useless pity as he thought of the schoolteacher._

_As Jas babbled excitedly in his arms, he’d walked them home and the same pettiness rendered him petulantly ignorant to the pull of the saloon’s door, smothering it in denial before it could even fully breach his consciousness. He’d show everyone – even that pull – that he was never going to succumb again to alcohol. Because he wasn’t religious but he was convinced that Satan didn’t appear as a coiled snake; but rather a foaming glass of beer. And he’d show Penny that never again would he remind her of her mother._

Shane had had no way of knowing then – or even now in reminiscence – but he’d unknowingly pried apart the jaws of a bear trap and laid it directly in his own path. Because he had learned a lot over these past months, but he still had yet to learn that life had a way of forcing you to stay wary. To never forget your roots. To not meet success with indignance; but with preparation to recover even quicker from the next failure. Because oh _boy,_ was there always a next failure.

* * *

Before the town knew it, the last night of summer was upon them. And, with it came Shane’s favorite town festival: The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies. It was also his last day away from JojaMart and he tried not to let the nerves of the ever-approaching work week stifle his excitement.

He was also nervous because even though he’d been back in town for a little over a week now, he’d been avoiding everywhere except the library and the one trip to Pierre’s. This festival was about to bring every single townsperson onto that lone, little beach and he was _really_ fighting to keep his shit together.

At least he’d be walking there with Jas and Marnie. Derek promised not to arrive too late – the tail-end of the season tying him to his land as per usual. It was also Jas’s favorite festival and it was all she’d talked about over the weekend. And now that the sun was setting and they were getting ready to head to the event, she couldn’t contain her excited bounces and squeaks.

Shane was zipping up a jacket over his usual ratty Joja hoodie. The last night of summer was always chilly, but a recent cold front was supposed to send the temperature even lower than usual, apparently.

Jas’s bedroom door opened and she bounded from it wearing a pink sweater sporting some cartoon character on the front and a pair of black pants with her brown boots.

“Are we ready, dad? Are we ready?” her voice pitched as she sped over to him, seeing he was at the door. Her big eyes were wide with excitement and she was smiling so wide Shane could see the gap on her bottom row of teeth where one had fallen out Friday night. He chuckled in amusement before giving her outfit another scan and clicking his tongue.

“I am, but _you_ are not, little lady.” He turned to the coat rack and tugged down her favorite purple jacket, hoping her love for the color would deter any kick back. “Gotta wear your coat, too. It’s gonna get real cold tonight.” He stepped forward to begin draping it over her when she scurried backwards.

“ _Nooo...”_ she whined. So much for no kick back, he supposed. “I already have a coat, see?” She pointed at her top and he snorted.

“That’s a shirt and it won’t keep you warm enough.”

“But-“

“ _Jasmine.”_

The little girl fanned her face dramatically. “Look, I’m already sweating!” she exclaimed. “I don’t need a coat.”

Shane sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, he hung the puffy garment back up and opened the front door, gesturing for her to step outside. Jas took a few excited steps out into the crisp evening air before she faltered. Leaning in the doorway, Shane crossed his arms and bit back a chuckle as she stubbornly tried to fight back a shiver.

“Shane, what are you doing?” Marnie’s voice came from behind. “You’re lettin’ all the cold in!” He turned and saw his aunt’s eyes take in the scene on the front lawn before she snickered. “Yoba, can she be hard-headed sometimes.” Jas turned around and marched back toward them with her arms crossed, frowning.

“Still hot?” he teased.

“Mhm!”

“Oh, really? That why you’re shakin’?”

“Am not!”

Chuckling again at her antics, Shane tugged her coat back down and held it for her as she petulantly shoved her arms into the sleeves. “Believe it or not, I know a thing or two, kid.” He gestured for her to zip it up and got another annoyed huff. “Hey, now,” he warned softly. “Keep that up and you’ll take my title of town grouch.” She dropped the agitated look to giggle up at him at that.

“You’d do good to listen to your father, Jasmine,” Marnie chided. And _that_ took the breath out of his lungs because ‘father’ held a _lot_ more weight than ‘dad’. It dropped into his gut like a pile of bricks. “Can’t have you catchin’ a cold, can we?” While Shane’s brain was still stalling, his daughter shook her head in resignation and zipped the purple coat over her sweater.

The teeth of the invisible bear trap sharpened.

A hand was on his shoulder and he turned to see Marnie’s gentle smile and a flash of concern in her eyes. “Ready, dear? You were spacing out for a minute there.”

He shook his head and lied to her for the first time in a while. “Y-yeah just... tryin’ not to think about work tomorrow.” It wasn’t technically a whole fib; and it was easy as hell to believe, too. She hummed and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“You’ll be fine, dear. You’re still planning on talkin’ to your boss about Thursdays, right?”

He nodded and his shoulders sagged a bit with worry. “What if he fires me? I dunno anyone who’s hirin’ right now and I’m not just gonna freeload here.”

“Oh, Shane.” She turned him into a quick hug and pulled back to hold him at arm’s length. “We always figure somethin’ out, don’t we?” Shane didn’t really know what she meant by that but he nodded anyway, trying not to let on that it wasn’t Morris’s angry face that was swimming in his mind; but a pair of faces – a long deceased couple. “Alright!” Marnie clapped her hands together in excitement. “Let’s get goin’.”

* * *

As soon as they stepped onto the beach, Jas spotted Vincent like she were a fucking bloodhound before she shot a goodbye over her shoulder and sprinted off. He and Marnie walked further down the beach, smiling fondly at the way the two kids instantly became joined at the hip as per usual.

“Any idea when the farmer’s supposed to show?” her voice drifted to him.

“Uh- no, not really. Gets pretty busy at the end-“ Shane was cut off by a hand sliding over his eyes as someone pressed themselves against his back. He instinctively whipped around and glared, squaring his shoulders as if he were really anyone to be intimidated by. Then, seeing who it was, he exhaled in a frustrated relief mingled with a tinge of adrenaline.

“Yoba, you scared the _shit_ out of me, asshole!” he hissed at the giggling red-head, not even caring that he’d just cursed twice in front of his aunt. She didn’t seem to mind, either, as she was giggling right along with his traitorous boyfriend.

“Sorry,” Derek managed, sounding quite far from it. “I wanted to surprise you. Got done sooner than I expected.”

Shane huffed, still a bit agitated. He didn’t like getting snuck up on in the slightest. “Surprise me with a damn heart attack,” he grumbled.

“There’s that ol’ grump I love and adore,” Derek snarked, batting his eyelashes with another smile. Marnie snickered as Shane rolled his eyes and hoped the dark covered the blush that would’ve shattered the pissy front he was stubbornly holding onto.

“I swear, Jas gets her fussin’ from you,” his aunt teased him. And there she went again with her stupid little comments that were making Josh and Jilly roll in their fucking graves. Because no, Jas didn’t get _shit_ from him except a front row seat to the mess that he’d spent her entire life – up until recently – dousing in enough alcohol to arouse an arsonist. “I’m gonna go have a chat with Jodi.” Thankfully, his silence went unnoticed this time. “You boys behave and”—she faced him directly—“text me if you’re not coming home tonight, okay?” She winked with a shameless laugh that made him want to sink into the sand below.

As soon as she had walked far enough away, Derek slid in front of him and tried to make contact with his downcast eyes which were currently preoccupied – bartering with the white grains for a swift burial.

“Hey,” the farmer whispered, hooking his fingers under Shane’s chin to tilt it to eye-level. But when he looked up, he saw all the people around them. They’d never been affectionate in public and it was causing people to _stare._ All anyone in this Yoba-forsaken town did was fucking _stare_ all day. It was a wonder Harvey didn’t switch to ophthalmology – surely all that eye strain would drum up good business.

He stepped back with a huff and sank his hands deeper into his coat, wishing his whole body would follow suit. Just swallow him up. It was his favorite festival and yet he didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to be in his bedroom. He wanted to be at Cindersap.

He wanted to be at the sal-

_No._

“No what?” Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Shane jerked his head up to see Derek’s eyes filling with confusion and worry and wasn’t that just _perfect._ Not only was he pissing on his friends’ memory tonight but he was also spreading his stench all over what was supposed to be a fun event _and_ also making his boyfriend fret over him in the same breath. He was just a goddamn handful, wasn’t he?

“Shane.” Both of the farmer’s hands were on his cheeks, gripping firmly and forcing their gazes to meet. And his panic was stifled a bit when icy blue eyes had replaced worry with something soft and determined. It was enough for Shane to exhale a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That’s it.” Derek’s voice soothed along with the pair of thumbs that began stroking the thin skin of his cheekbones. “Talk to me.”

“Its-“ And he was going to lie but they’d promised no more secrets, so he just clamped his mouth shut instead and shook his head. Luckily, Derek’s face was so close that he couldn’t see past it to the looks he knew they must be getting. Because then he might _really_ have lied to the farmer.

“Hey, I’m losin’ you again,” the red-head muttered. And it hurt so much that his jaw was wired shut when all he wanted was Derek to chase the darkness away. The darkness that had disguised itself under the blanket of night so it could slip into his skull unnoticed to nestle into the familiar folds of his brain like an old friend. “Let’s go get somethin’ to eat from the buffet, okay?”

But that only made Shane’s stomach churn because _fuck,_ the knots were back and a feeling was rising in his throat and he only had a second to pray wasn’t actually vomit before he fell into the first panic attack he’d had since the shooting. The shooting that had stolen Jas’s _actual_ father. And her mother. And Shane, too, in a way.

Before he knew it, he was tearing away from Derek and squinting against the wrenching in his gut and the swirling of his vision. Lewis was going to launch the boat soon and he was going to _miss_ it because he couldn’t chill the fuck _out._ Shane’s hands ran furiously through his hair as he marched toward the exit of the beach, chest heaving.

“Shane!” Derek’s voice called out. And he yelled his name so _loud_ that now people were _really_ going to be looking. Watching as he scurried off like a spooked rabbit, breaths wheezing in his throat. Because surely Shane’s facade couldn’t have lasted, right? He could almost picture them all placing bets until his next late night romp with Gus’s tap. Wondered if they thought he’d last through the month. Through the week. Through _tonight._ The saloon might be closed but everyone knew what lay out on that buffet table – and it bitterly crossed Shane’s mind once again that the Devil’s hiss was not reptilian; but rather reminiscent of sour carbonation.

And his eyes were closed as he felt so many more pairs burning through his thick layers of clothing. Like an animal resigning its fate to the jaws of an apex predator, he was frozen in place. Fists curled into his hair, Shane was too overwhelmed to even _think._ A whirlpool had replaced the lump of sodden meat in his skull until he couldn’t tell if the whole world was spinning or if it were just him. His heart was rushing thunderously in time with the rapids.

Then, arms were folding around him from behind and before he could jerk away, a fist rubbed its knuckles over his breastbone in firm, vertical strokes. The pain of bone-against-bone made him gasp; but it was that gasp that broke the stuttered wheezing and taught his lungs how to inhale again. He let the pain shock him back into his shoes. As the pressing became slower and firmer – sobering agony – so did his breaths.

Shane felt a chin rest on his right shoulder and Derek’s cologne made his newfound inhalation so much more enjoyable.

“You’re safe, Shane.” Warm breath against the shell of his ear made his shoulders finally release their tension. The knuckles stopped moving and instead urged him back against the solid body behind him that straightened up both of their postures, allowing his lungs to truly expand. “You’re with me.”

“Can’t do this, Derek,” Shane finally spoke. He hated how broken his voice came out. “I can let her call me dad but... father is.. _.”_ There was a burning in his eyes and he angrily chastised himself that he was absolutely not going to cry right now. Though, what was the difference, actually? He’d just spiraled in front of the whole fucking town, hadn’t he? Why not some sobbing to top it all off? Then, maybe, for his final act, he’d just go ahead and prove them all right by sulking right over to that table and letting the townspeople cash in their gambles. “It’s disrespectful... to them. I have a few okay days and suddenly that’s enough to start pretending I hold a candle to ‘em? That... that she fuckin’ _resembles_ me or whatever horseshit Marnie keeps saying?!”

“You’re _legally_ her father-“

“No, I’m legally her _guardian.”_

“Tomato, tuh-fuckin’-mah-toe, Shane!” Derek cried in exasperation. “That’s what they call adoptive parents, too!” And that... that threw his entire train off its tracks briefly. He hadn’t ever thought about that. Hadn’t even crossed his damn mind. Derek took his silence as an opportunity to continue. “No one says ‘adoptive father’ unless its necessary to specify. And”—he turned Shane around—“in the eyes of the law, she’s yours. Through and fuckin’ through. You’re her dad, her father, her- _whatever_ synonym you wanna throw out.”

But no skilled adoption agency had vetted Shane and deemed him fit, had they? No, Jas had been dropped into his lap unceremoniously with a wary glance that said: _‘Maybe try not to screw this one up, huh?’_ It wasn’t the same. She may want him to be her new, shiny substitute father; but she also wanted ice cream at eleven o’clock at night. She also wanted to play in the filthy sewers down by the spring onions. She also wanted to freeze herself tonight before Marnie had talked sense into her.

Maybe she just wasn’t the best judge of what she should want.

“ _Alllllrighty, folks!”_ Lewis’s voice interrupted as he called out across the beach. He began the opening speech and Shane felt even more shame burn his face because he was making the farmer _miss_ it. Derek’s very first opportunity to witness the only magical thing in this valley. All because Shane was stupid and whiny and insecure and-

“’M sorry I’m ruinin’ this,” he blurted, feeling as pathetic as he sounded.

Derek scoffed. “If I wanted to hear the mayor run his mouth, I’d visit his ass, okay?”

Despite himself, Shane snorted so hard that it made a ridiculous noise which made the farmer burst out laughing. And now the red-head’s guffaws were drawing the attention of the people who hadn’t strayed over to the docks yet. Shane put his hand over Derek’s mouth with a small smirk and put a finger against his lips.

“Yoba, Red, I’ve gotten stared at enough tonight,” he mumbled.

Reduced to quiet chuckles, the farmer slid Shane’s hand from his face to lace it with his own. “Let ‘em get an eyeful,” he whispered with that sinfully adorable dopey smile. “I’ll scream from the top of Elliott’s shitty little shack how happy you make me.” It made him roll his eyes but he couldn’t have fought the smile that curled his lips upwards even if he’d been paid to. Damn this man for being able to haul him from the depths of his mind – even if only temporarily.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.” Then, Derek was pulling them towards the docks by their linked hands and Shane had no option but to stumble along with the dumbest half-smile on his bright red face. They trotted past groups of townspeople: Emily, Gus, Clint, Harvey; Rasmodius, Linus, Lewis; Caroline, Robin, Pierre, Demetrius. Shane tried not to catch their eyes but Emily had a way of drawing his gaze. She beamed at him and wiggled her eyebrows and now he was blushing deeper.

Then, they were on the dock, their footsteps plodding on the old wood that Marnie always said made her nervous.

“Derek! Shane!” They both turned to see Sam standing a little ways down the dock, waving them down. Beside him sat Abigail and on his other side, smoking a cigarette, was Sebastian. He gripped Derek’s hand tighter without realizing it as anger threatened to bubble up again; the events from last Sunday flooding his mind. Sensing the hesitation, the blonde took it upon himself to jog over. “Hey, look, I know things are still weird with... Seb and all but... me and Abby talked about it with him and... well, we threatened to tell his mom how many packs he _really_ blows through in a week if he doesn’t behave,” Sam smirked.

“I-I dunno...” Derek murmured. “I... I’m still-“

“Yeah- no, I get it,” he sighed, running a hand through the yellow spikes. “It’s just... me and Abby miss you two, you know?”

Shane clicked his tongue, fighting back an eye roll. “You don’t gotta add me in just ‘cause I’m standin’ right here.” The red-head beside him let out a long sigh.

“Man, Sam. Sometimes I really do wanna smack him,” Derek said wistfully with a wide smile. Shane huffed as the guitarist let out a loud laugh and clapped his co-worker on the shoulder.

“Relax, dude. I wouldn’t say something I didn’t mean, yeah?” His hand slid off Shane, thankfully, as his smile dropped to a softer caliber. “Look, Seb really wants to apologize. To both of you.”

“Dunno if I’m feelin’ very receptive,” Shane groused, eyes narrowing at the black-clothed figure who was still puffing smoke. His gaze shifted to Derek, who’d been looking at him. “Not after seein’ how much he hurt you.”

“Yeah, fair...” Sam mumbled, stealing a glance over his shoulder at Sebastian and shaking his head. Then, he looked at the farmer and concern was carved into his features. “That _was_ kinda scary that night. Never seen you like that before. Like you were completely out of it, you know? Not even really there.” _That’s not helping, idiot_ Shane groaned internally. Sam gestured in Shane’s direction as he spoke to Derek again. “He was panicking when you ran off... said you might hurt yourself and Yoba, I believe it. Didn’t even seem like you could keep yourself upright. Was afraid you’d walk right into a tree or the lake or something.”

The red-head bristled immediately at what the blonde had unknowingly revealed and Shane’s heart began racing. Fuck you, Sam. Fuck you, Sam. _Fuck._

A long pause. “He said that, did he?” Derek’s voice was suddenly distant and the hand that was holding Shane’s went limp and would’ve dropped if he hadn’t been clasping it in a death grip. He couldn’t even blame Sam, could he? No, it was his own stupid fault for blurting it out. Even if Sam had misinterpreted what Shane had meant, he’d still shared something that wasn’t his decision to share. In a fit of useless rage, too. Yoba, he was always so goddamn useless.

Then, Shane heard people gasping and he didn’t even have to look at the water to know why, because the brilliant blue glow of the jellies framed a pale and distraught Derek like a helpful spotlight that said, _‘Here you go, asshole. This is what you do to people.’_

“We’ll sort everything out with Seb, dude. Don’t worry,” Sam squeezed the farmer’s shoulder, misreading the cause of his forlorn look, naturally. “I’m gonna head back over. See you two soon, yeah?” Then, he spun on his heel and left the carnage of his bomb behind.

“What did you tell them...?” Derek’s voice was quiet; pained. He gently pulled his hand from Shane’s. It made the cold permeate through his very bones. No way Derek would stay with him after this. Annoying moisture burned at the corners of his eyes again but he forced his mouth to move.

“I- I-“ Shane stuttered, voice cracking. “I didn’t- I... wasn’t tryin’ to- I... I just said what Sam told you... a-and I didn’t _mean_ to. I don’t even think I... I _realized_ at the time. I j-“ He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. It didn’t matter if it was accidental or not because consequences don’t give a shit about intent. “I was just s-scared and... and angry at Sebastian and I’m _sorry,_ Derek. I- I know... I know you trusted me and it kills me that I broke that.”

This night was going so terribly in so many different ways and he was really starting to wonder if he was going to be able to resist the buffet table’s call. And that terrified him to no end, yet he deserved every bit of it. If he fell off the wagon, he’d be the only one to blame – not only for falling in the first place, but for setting himself up to do so. It was just the universe giving him a patronizing pat on the back before putting him back in his place.

“Huh? Shane I’m not mad at you.” He almost didn’t hear Derek’s words over the whirlpool that had moved in between his ears again. But when they finally carried over the chaos, he felt his own brow furrowing against his palms.

What?

He uncovered his eyes slowly and looked over in disbelief. Derek was still floating in his skin like an unmoored ship but it struck him that there had never been any actual anger or betrayal on his face. There actually hadn’t been any emotions on his face. Because he’d slipped out of himself and left Shane with a blank canvas for his brain to paint assumptions on. And his brain – ever the artist – only owned black acrylics.

“W-why not?”

 _Yoba, really?_ he cringed at himself. That was pitiful beyond even his standards.

“Can’t hide it forever, can I?” The farmer shrugged limply. “You... also didn’t actually say anything that damning either.” Horse shit. If the roles were reversed and Derek had blurted out the truth of Shane’s attempt, he knew he’d be furious. Wouldn’t he? Though now, some sick part of his mind supposed he’d be fine with that at this point. Tit for tat, right?

And Shane’s depression was furious at not being fed, it seemed, because he uttered another pitiful set of words: “Why do you just... keep forgivin’ me like that?” He shifted his gaze from his boyfriend to the jellyfish that were swimming towards them in mass groups. “And... and _look,_ it’s your first jellyfish festival and I’m keepin’ you from enjoying it.”

Instead of answering, Derek moved toward him and ducked his head to bury his face against Shane’s chest. It was then he noticed the farmer was shivering and he saw with vague horror that the red-head was only wearing a simple long-sleeve shirt. Protectiveness was his depression’s kryptonite as his brain instantly switched gears.

“Derek, where the fuck’s your jacket?! Are you insane?” He instantly began unzipping the thick, wooly one he’d been wearing over his hoodie. It was one of his nicest – a Wintersday gift from Marnie one year – black with beige fleece lining the inside. It was huge on him, too, which made him like it even more.

“Don’t got one,” Derek muttered. He stopped Shane from shrugging the coat off and the purple-haired man was about to protest when he was being dragged to the edge of the pier. “Wait, I wanna sit with you.”

“Sure, whatever you want but take my jacket before you catch pneumonia or something,” Shane huffed. But Derek kept yanking the garment back onto Shane’s shoulders before sitting down with his legs dangling off the pier and patting the space behind him. Another huff. “ _Please,_ if you get sick-“

“No, look,” his boyfriend insisted, patting the wood again. Shane groaned but sat obediently with his legs dangling just outside of the farmer’s as his front pressed into the other’s back. Before he could try shedding the coat again, Derek reached behind and pulled the sides that Shane had unzipped around himself. “There, that’s what I wanted,” he sighed contently. “Zip us in.” Shane was blushing furiously at how intimate it was – right in front of everyone they knew. But it also secretly thrilled him and yanked him back from the clutches of his depression again. His slightly shaking hands fumbled with the metal zipper before slowly dragging it up. And he was even more thankful for its large size. Once they were encased together in the warm fabric, Shane rubbed Derek’s arms where they lumped under the jacket. “Mm,” his boyfriend hummed low. “You’re a human furnace, you know that?” He scooted back even further as if trying to melt against the other man.

“Givin’ the whole town quite a show,” he grumbled, even though nothing they were doing was even inappropriate. Derek turned his head to face him and _Yoba,_ he was so _close_ that Shane could’ve just puckered his lips slightly and they’d be connected. Despite his social anxiety, he almost did, too.

“’S it bother you?” Derek whispered, puffs of white breath ghosting between them.

“A bit...” Shane winced. “But-“ he added hastily. “Not enough to want to stop.” At least he was being honest, right? Maybe he’d get better at this. Maybe that was just the adrenaline-fueled hope talking.

“Okay,” Derek reassured him with a sweet smile. “Let me know if it gets too much, hm? I know it’s the public part that’s gettin’ to ya. I won’t be offended. Promise.”

And then Shane was smiling the widest he had all night and anxiety could go fuck itself because there was no way he was going to let Derek go after _that._

Even though it started off rocky – to put it lightly – the rest of the festival filled Shane with the comforting warmth he’d been feeling for the past six days as he held his farmer, resting his chin on the man’s shoulder while their eyes danced blue with the otherworldly glow of the jellies.

“They came last year...” Shane whispered, entranced and calm and _secure._ “And they’ll be back the next... nature is amazing.”

Derek hummed and turned his head slightly to press his lips against the side of Shane’s temple.

“Can’t wait to do this again next year, then,” he whispered back. The promise was even brighter than the luciferin.


	27. Fuck Joja

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *unnecessarily long and slightly convoluted chapter titles*  
> Also me: fuck joja (:
> 
> So! I've fallen a tad behind on writing ahead. Meaning this chapter hasn't stewed for nearly as long as the others I've been pushing out. I'm a bit picky about the quality so if I end up revising I'll let ya know!

Shane took a deep breath, his sickly blue hat shoved low on his head and his hands jammed into his uniform pockets. Stepping forward, he triggered the automatic doors and the scent of disinfectant coupled with the glaring lighting seemed to elicit a strange headache. Like Pavlov’s fucking dog, he suddenly felt hungover.

Except his heart beat thumped in his chest and it was dread – not stale beer, thankfully – that was roiling in his stomach.

“Hallelujah!” he heard a familiar chipper voice cry out. His head lifted to see Sam beaming at him, leaning against his broom. “Yoba am I happy to see your grumpy face, man. Was startin’ to talk to myself in the aisles just for some excitement,” he joked. Shane let out a small noise of amusement despite himself, lips almost twitching into a smirk.

Then, a much more unwelcome tone slithered across to him: “Shane. Good to have you back,” Morris said in his usual sickeningly false-jovial tenor. “You have a lot to catch up on so go ahead and clock in.” Shane’s head throbbed with another ache as the familiar misery began seeping through the fibers of his uniform. He trudged over to the terminal to pull up the shift start window. “Oh, and before I forget”—he nearly jumped as Morris was suddenly beside him—“there’s a Joja ad contest running currently for all employees. Winner takes ten grand. The deadline to submit is Friday. Sorry for such late notice but,” his boss shrugged with a sneer. “You were out.”

Shane bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check as he used the keyboard to clock in and took the flyer Morris was handing him. Scanning over it, he felt a strange nostalgic feeling spark in his chest. He’d buried his love of photography and film beside Jillian, who’d helped him cultivate the skill in the first place. She used to spend hours teaching him about angles, exposure, camera specs, editing software, and even a bit about costume and sets.

At one point, they were even drafting a short screenplay. Some thrown-together script about a troubled teenager who grew up in poverty and was forced to navigate his way into adulthood after landing a full-ride scholarship at a top university. It wasn’t the best – or even remotely original – plot; but they’d been so excited for it that they’d convinced Josh to help them design a couple of sets. The brunette had always been extremely artistic on top of the athleticism that brought him and Shane together through gridball originally.

Then they’d both fucking died on him. And his old supplies were somewhere in a long forgotten cardboard box he’d brought to the ranch and probably misplaced. Or _literally_ buried after a few too many beers. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Fingers were snapping in front of his face as he found he was still staring at the flyer. “Hello? Did you not hear me say how much work you need to get done?” Morris quipped. “Read up on that on your own dime.”

With a huff, he folded the paper and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Then, he remembered he needed to talk to this asshole. Not now, though. No, right now he couldn’t stand being in the man’s presence for a minute longer.

“I need to talk to you b’fore I leave today,” he mumbled.

“You know where my office is.”

With that, Shane was making his way to the back warehouse whose bland walls had listened to his farewell plans thousands of times over. Whose palettes had faced his glassy, detached glare for hours on end. Whose door had received more angry shoves than necessary.

And he slipped into the routine of his wretched job as his conditioned brain slipped into the darkness that was associated with Joja’s logo.

* * *

Five o’clock rolled around and Shane punched out before heading to the gray door embedded in one of the far corners of the store. _Morris Johnson,_ the dingy nameplate boasted. He took a steadying breath of bitter air and knocked twice.

“Come in.”

Then, as Shane opened the door and entered:

“You clocked out, yes?”

Right, because there was no way he’d ever get an ounce of overtime pay in this place so he’d _better_ have clocked out on time. He nodded silently and Morris gestured to the chair in front of the desk he sat at. Shane sunk into the seat and took a moment to find his words. He had to be wary of time, too. He didn’t want to be late picking Jas up.

“I need Thursdays off,” he blurted. Then, he cringed as Morris – who hadn’t looked up at him from the paperwork he’d been filling out – stilled his pen against the sheets before him. “I have to, um... go somewhere every Thursday at... i-in the afternoon.” Shane fidgeted nervously as he tried not to give too much away. “I’d be willing to pick up Saturdays or Sundays.” No, he wouldn’t; but he guessed he’d have to make sacrifices. Sacrifices for a hell-hole he’d already sacrificed so much for.

Morris set his pen down and used the hand to rub his thumb and forefinger into his eyes with an agitated sigh. “You just returned from a two week vacation and you’re already asking for more time off?” And the anger flared in Shane again and he had to choke it back because what the _fuck_ did he mean “vacation”?

“I was in the hospital for the entire first week,” he admitted curtly. “Not much of a getaway.”

“Watch your tone, Robinson.”

He was gritting his teeth painfully and his right leg bounced. This was already going south.

“What do you have to do on Thursday afternoons that is more important than your job?” The condescension in his voice made his teeth squeak against each other with the force of Shane’s grinding. Derek had informed him this morning that, legally, he didn’t have to share any details with Morris. Then again, Morris also didn’t _have_ to grant him the day off, so – law or not – it wasn’t like Shane had much of a choice.

“Doctor.” His last attempt at vague.

“You’re going to Harvey every week?” The tone was accusatory now.

Shane couldn’t bite back the groan fast enough and tried to cover it by clearing his throat. “Therapy. In the city,” he bit out. He was looking at his hands that he’d laced in his lap but he heard the way the old chair creaked as Morris sat back.

He forced himself to make eye contact and the cold, emotionless look in his boss’s eyes made him want to crawl into a bar stool-

 _Fuck,_ why did those thoughts keep sneaking up on him?

“You know, Joja employs a fine crew of certified counselors. One is assigned to each store.” _Isn’t that a bit damning, don’t you think?_ Shane thought bitterly. “Ours is...” Morris trailed off, flicking his eyes to one of the sheets pinned to his wall and reading from it. “Brad Pedoa. He would come for half an hour once a month after your shift and provide... assistance,” he finished carefully.

Shane shook his head. “Morris, this... this is more, uh-“ He rubbed the back of his neck to try and gather himself. “It needs to be once a week and- and it needs to be this doctor. She... she knows how to help.”

His boss scoffed. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Shane, but there’s simply no way we can give you every Thursday off.”

“This is _important,”_ Shane emphasized, hating how his voice was bordering on pleading. “This is... my _health.”_ And what was he pleading for, exactly? His boss to show him some basic humanity? He thought of Dr. Montgomery’s words and found himself asking her question again: Was this job even healthy for him? Or was sitting in his boss’s office and begging for a chance to heal an indication that he’d never _truly_ heal as long as he was constantly enveloped in these suffocating walls?

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Morris repeated. “You’ll have to figure it out.”

“Morris-“

“End of discussion,” his boss said firmly. Shane’s anger boiled over and he stood up, silent and resolute.

_‘We always figure somethin’ out, don’t we?’_

_‘I’d rather you unemployed, but alive and healthy than back at the cliffs.’_

He took off the hat that he’d despised for so many years and – with a gently bubbling rage – set it firmly atop the paperwork Morris had been working on.

“Then, I quit.”

Shane turned on his heel and yanked the office door open, vaguely aware the old thing might just rip off its hinges if he wasn’t careful.

“ _Robinson!”_ Morris yelled after him as he marched towards the door. Sam had been about to walk out but he froze, turning in shock to observe the scene in front of him. “Get back here or you’re fired!”

Shane was going to go without much of a fuss; but if his boss wanted to tango, he’d fucking tango. He spun around and fixed the short man with a snarl. “How the fuck are you going to fire me when I just quit, genius?” he spat. “You and this entire shit stain of a store can go to hell.”

Morris shrieked more words at him but Shane had already passed Sam, whose jaw was nearly brushing the floor, and angrily stepped into the fresh air. With each step further from the premises, though, the anger slowly slipped out of him and an emotion that was dangerously close to relief filled its place. It felt like a victory.

He marched onward toward the library, seeing Penny walking with Vincent and Jas. Shane was a bit tardy but at least not too late. Jas called out to him when she spotted him but he was too overwhelmed with a weird muddy of emotions to respond as he scooped her up and pulled her against him in a tight hug.

She hugged him back without her usual squeal, her incredibly intuitive mind catching onto the serious undertones of his demeanor. Because this wasn’t the first time he’d gotten off a shift in this mood. “Was the Jojo’s man mean to you again?” she whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, still cradling her firmly. Then, as she pulled back slightly to look at him, he managed a small smile. “But it’s okay because I happen to know a _very_ cute kid who never fails to cheer me up, don’t I?”

“Mhm,” she agreed with a sage nod. “We can watch movies and play games!” Then, she shot a nervous side glance at Penny, who Shane realized was watching with barely contained affection at them. It felt like another victory. “After my homework,” Jas hastily added.

Shane pecked her on the forehead as usual. “Sounds like a plan to me, squirt.” He turned to Penny and while he didn’t necessarily smile, he did keep the softer look in his eyes. “Evenin’, Penny.”

“Bye, you two,” she whispered back.

**Derek**

As soon as Shane texted him that he’d quit, he’d announced that he was coming over. After jumping in the shower to quickly wash a long day’s work off his skin, he grabbed his wallet and phone and headed out.

The first day of fall had him planting loads of new seeds, tilling rows upon rows of soil, and planning trips to the mines for the first time. His tools were still pitifully weak. A while ago, he’d outright bought some ore off Clint to at least upgrade his axe and pickaxe to a slightly sturdier copper build.

All he could think about right now, though, was Shane. The farmer felt an insane amount of pride course through him but he also felt nerves settle in his stomach. He knew Shane’s unemployment wasn’t going to be easy on him. Derek had admittedly been thinking about what they’d do if it came to this. While he had a solution rolling around in his skull, he wasn’t confident that Shane would be thrilled about it.

Because he had finally gotten Robin to build him a huge coop but it was completely empty. Though, with the money he’d been steadily saving, he was fitting to change that really soon. But he needed help. A farmhand. Luckily, he happened to be _well_ acquainted with Pelican Town’s finest chicken boy.

Stepping up to the ranch door, he knocked, excitement stifling the nerves for now.

“ _Crap,”_ he heard a familiar voice hiss. “U-uh, one sec! Coming!” Then, he heard a few small clatters and what sounded like cabinet doors banging before a faucet was turned on. _What in the world?_ he thought, a confused but amused smile dancing on his face.

Finally, the door opened and the smile widened immediately to a grin that threatened to break into a laugh. Because his boyfriend had very obviously let himself get roped into a particular 8-year-old girl’s rendition of a makeover. Currently, Shane was scrubbing a washcloth over his mouth with an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

When he pulled the cloth away, it came back rosy red; but not all of the lipstick had made it off. Derek sucked his lips inward, cheeks puffing out. Shane immediately glared in warning.

“If you laugh, I’m leavin’ you out here,” he threatened.

Derek let his puckered lips go with a pop as he unsuccessfully fought to keep his grin at bay. “Not laughin’,” he rushed out. But a small sound escaped from the back of his throat when he noticed: “Is that _eyeliner?!”_ And now he was wheezing and Shane was closing the door. He shot out an arm to stop it. “No, no! I’m sorry, I’m s-“ But he couldn’t get much out past the laughter.

“It was nice seeing you, Derek!” Shane called out as he held the door ajar against Derek’s outstretched hand. The farmer leaned more weight on it, trying to squeeze through the small gap while still letting out breathless chuckles.

“Let me in, I said I’m sorry!”

He saw Shane smirk before the man unexpectedly yanked the door open, sending the red-head tumbling inside before large arms wrapped around his middle and caught him. And it was his boyfriend’s turn to laugh.

“You asshole!” Derek cried, trying not to let his mind linger on their current positioning.

“Right, because makin’ fun of a man on his own stoop is polite?” Shane chastised, still giggling low.

The farmer threw his arms around Shane’s neck. “Wasn’t making fun!” he claimed with a sharp shake of his head. “You looked very pretty, I promise,” he punctuated with a peck to the now scowling lips before him.

“You’re on thin ice, Red.”

Derek rolled his eyes and kissed the tip of Shane’s nose to shut him up.

“ _Ew!”_ Both men turned to see Jas had appeared, squealing with laughter with her small hands over her mouth. Derek felt his cheeks heating up as he stepped away from the embrace. Kids always had a way of sneaking up at the damndest of times. But kids also had a way of moving on pretty quickly. “Mister Derek, you’re just in time!” she announced. Jas grabbed his hand and dragged him down the hallway. “Follow me!”

He shot a glance over his shoulder to catch Shane with a small, dopey smile on his face as he followed the pair; an affectionate look in his eyes. And Derek’s heart swelled. Damn, he was head over heels for that idiot.

* * *

“I heard you say a bad word earlier.” Jas smirked at Shane’s TV while she handled a Gamestation controller with surprising expertise. Though, was it really surprising considering who her dad was? “By Aunt Marnie’s counter,” she chirped. She sat up a bit taller and her entire little body tilted as she mashed the trigger buttons to kill some giant squid monster on screen. “The one ‘a’ one.”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment and chanced a glance over at his boyfriend, who was barely containing a chuckle as he flicked an accusatory brow up at the farmer. Beautiful bastard.

“Err... sorry, girlie. Got spooked when _someone_ threw me inside.” He glared at the other adult.

“Hey,” Shane interjected, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You ask and you shall receive.”

“Man, hope Marnie abides by that, too. Kinda in the mood to look at some photo albums.” Jas let out a giggle and it widened the farmer’s smirk. Every interaction he had with the little girl made him soft as hell. He’d never given much thought to having kids of his own but she might be provoking some. Geez, that was a bit weird though, right? Feeling attached to his boyfriend’s kid?

The other man scoffed. “Good luck with that. She’s out.”

“Oh? She have a date with L-E-W-I-S?” Jas tilted her chin in confusion and then made a hilariously exaggerated expression of disgust.

“You know she can spell, right?” Shane chortled.

 _“Ew!”_ she nearly screeched. “Aunt Marnie and Mister _Lewis?”_ she cried.

Derek sucked in a breath and offered her an apologetic shrug.

“Not anymore, thank Yoba,” his boyfriend muttered.

The farmer’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh?”

“Tell ya later,” he promised, darting his eyes to the kid pointedly.

“I wanna know, too!” Jas exclaimed. Damn, was she always this observant? She’d turned away from the video game at this point and Derek watched as her character died on screen.

Shane shook his head. “You know too much already, kiddo.”

“But _dad-“_

“Huh-uh, don’t pull that on me.” Derek watched them, grinning like an idiot. She made a grumpy noise before her face lit up with curiosity again.

“Mister Derek-“

“Derek,” he offered gently. “Ain’t that old yet.”

She giggled again. “You and my dad are dating, right? Like how boys and girls do?” Immediately, he felt his face flush as he heard Shane draw in a sharp breath. Had he not had the whole “kumbaya, love is love” chat with her, yet? Surely, they couldn’t be the first gay couple she’d encountered, right? I mean, even Emily didn’t seem to be “strictly dickly” if his intuition wasn’t failing him.

“Yup. That’s how it happens sometimes. Don’t really control who you fall in love with.” But he really should’ve known that mentioning that particular four-letter word in front of a little girl who was enamored with princesses and fairytale romance stories was a bit of an oversight. Her excited squeal filled the room and Shane shot him a glare.

“You guys _love_ each other?” The controller was abandoned in front of her as she bounced in place on her folded legs. “That means you get married, right?”

Both men went silent.

Then, a more interesting question popped into her mind and her young, unfiltered mouth just had to voice it: “So, if you get married does it mean you become my dad, too?”

Fucking hell. He’d forgotten how blunt kids are. He looked to Shane, awkward and unsure of what the hell to say – feeling like he was overstepping some boundary despite not having even been the one that dropped the two bombs in rapid succession.

“Time for bed, kiddo,” Shane said quietly. The farmer hoped he was just caught off guard and bashful like he was; and not angry or ready to run.

Jas whined again and crossed her arms. “How come you never tell me stuff?” Her bottom lip jutted out and that just wasn’t fair. Derek couldn’t help the rush of affection he felt for her. Shane sighed and stood, gesturing for her to get up with him. Jas obeyed but then rushed over to the farmer and looped her thin arms around his neck. Despite the tension in the room, there was no way he wasn’t going to hug her back. “Good night, Derek! I love you.”

He was such a goner. In truth, he’d felt bonded to her since that day back in spring where they’d sat at his table, ate Marnie’s home-cooked meal, and spilled their shared backstory. Derek didn’t know anything about kids, really, but Jasmine was by far his favorite.

“Y-yeah, love you, too, girlie.” _Not your place, not your place, this isn’t your fucking place,_ his brain growled. He ignored it. His brain could beat him up all night and he still wouldn’t leave Jas hanging. If they were at all alike, the farmer knew that love and being loved by adults and parental figures was extremely important to her. “Sleep tight.”

Then, she grabbed Shane’s hand and let her father lead the way to her bedroom.

While he sat on the floor, he let the waves of anxiety rush through him.

Derek’s eyes flicked over to the screen, where ‘GAME OVER’ was still flashing mockingly at him. He almost wanted to grab the controller or turn off the system or the TV itself or _something,_ but he felt like such an intruder that he couldn’t move from his position on the carpet. The downside of being around someone else with dead parents is that it made him think about his a _lot._

So, there he sat – trying not to think about a lot of things that needed thinking about. Could Thursday come any sooner? He’d fluctuated in levels of hope about the upcoming therapy session but, right now, all he wanted was for someone to tell him it was going to be alright. As hollow as the sentiment seemed on the outside, something in Derek always found such strange comfort in it.

The farmer was so lost in his head that he almost didn’t hear Shane walk back in. The man leaned in his doorway, hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. The silence ached like the old wounds on his arms but he gave his boyfriend time to stew. He’d been realizing more and more how similar they both were in their need to let thoughts marinate before they could be permitted into existence.

Finally, Shane shifted slightly, crossing his right ankle over the left leg that supported his leaning position. It was promising body language, Derek supposed. Relaxed, perhaps. “Sorry, uh... ‘bout all that.” His voice was pitched deep as it rumbled the words between them, bulldozing through the quiet. “She can get... you know how kids are.”

Derek heard himself let out a small huff of amusement as he nodded. “It’s fine, really...” He picked at the fibers of the rug he sat on. “I was just worried about... you know... intruding.” His fingernails searched the stalks of fabric for sentences he could harvest. “Guess it’s just always awkward to be faced with shit you hadn’t let yourself really think about yet.”

Shane shifted his weight to his other leg, bending his left knee in the air slightly. Derek wondered if he were wearing his brace. “Did you... wanna talk about... any of it?” And honestly, the farmer just simply didn’t know. Well, if he were being held at gunpoint he might admit to loving every word of what Jas had said. But there were too many chains holding him back. They’d been dating for barely any time at all, for one. They also still haven’t technically started therapy. Shane also just quit his job; and while finances never much phased Derek, he knew that until his boyfriend got another, he was going to have a rough time with his mental health.

It was just timing.

He ran a hand through his red hair and sighed. “I’ve already told you how much I love you.” Derek lifted his head to look at Shane, who was still staring at his bedroom floor. But a man with that much social anxiety couldn’t possibly ignore the feeling of eyes on him forever. And sure enough, he was finally gifted with those vibrantly green eyes that always seemed to have a special stockpile of comfort to offer. “And if I know me and my big ass mouth... I’ve probably said some comments revolving around... you know.” He twirled his hand vaguely at where Jas had sat.

Shane was silent, looking back at him with an unreadable expression. He hated when he couldn’t read him.

“But we haven’t been together very long, have we?” The farmer continued. “Then again, I dunno... everything just feels so... _right_ with you...” He trailed off and couldn’t help but break the eye contact. “That... that I can’t help... just-“

“Rushing?” Shane finally spoke. It made Derek’s eyes dart back to him and he swore he saw a bit more relief in the other man’s face. Because somehow, they’d been thrown unceremoniously into this confusing labyrinth of a novel and still happened to land on the same page.

“Yeah,” he breathed. Shane smiled shyly, then, and it was the most endearing thing he’d seen in a while. And when the man pushed himself casually from the door frame to stroll over and sit beside him, touching knees, a smile tugged eagerly at his lips, too. “I mean... we haven’t even lived with each other yet.” Then, the farmer was smirking. “What if you’re a bed wetter?”

Shane clicked his tongue with a worried sigh. “Shit, is that a deal breaker for you?”

Derek giggled and shoved him, causing the other man to chuckle quietly as he had to catch himself with an arm. Seriousness fell over his face again, briefly. “I love Jas and I love you,” Derek admitted quietly. “That’s all I know right now.”

“Sounds ‘bout where I am, too,” Shane replied with a shrug. “We haven’t even gone on a date yet,” he mused with a smirk.

Derek’s brow furrowed in astonishment. “Oh, man... we got some catchin’ up to do, huh? Got any good ideas?” As if on cue, the farmer’s stomach growled loudly in the quiet room. His smile became sheepish and he knew his face was probably pink. “Uh, sorry... think I got a bit wrapped up in the farm today.”

“Shit, I haven’t gone on a solid grocery run in a while,” Shane winced. “We could go get something?”

But that wasn’t really feasible, was it? It was almost 8:30 and the only thing that was open this late was... “Would you, uh... be okay goin’ there?” He could always just make a quick run there by himself and come back.

His boyfriend shrugged. “They got my sparkling water. I checked with Emily.” Shane’s lips held the ghost of a smile. “Besides... I’m feelin’ pretty okay today. Despite the whole...” Quitting his job thing, yeah. Derek understood. Then, his angry stomach grumbled and he huffed in embarrassment as his hand rose to his midsection.

“Only if you’re sure... I could always get something to-go.”

Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “Come on, your belly’s gonna start gnawin’ on your arm if we don’t get a move on. Besides, weren’t we just talkin’ ‘bout dates?”

“You’re fine with our first date being at a bar?” Derek grimaced slightly. In truth, he was still worried about the urges he could only guess his boyfriend had. He struggled with his own on a daily basis and had poured himself into his crops to ease the intrusive thoughts. How did Shane ease his?

Those green eyes dug into him and before he could react, he was being kissed. It was soft, light, and over before he could get enough. But another low groan from his abdomen begged him to worry about that later.

“Don’t care where the fuck we go ‘s long as I’m with you,” Shane smiled.

Derek hummed happily in response, dropping into a teasing smirk. “And _I’m_ the sap.”

His boyfriend stood and offered the farmer his hand, which he took, and hoisted him to his feet. “You’re an ass is what you are,” he chuckled.

“Shut up before I snap and decide to eat you,” Derek grumbled back.

Shane wiggled his eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you have the time, I really would appreciate some feedback! It's hard to know whether or not this story is being liked by a majority of the readers - or if they don't like it, what could I be doing better, you know?  
> Only if you have time, though.  
> Thank youuu <3


	28. Be My Chicken Boy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in a few days! My birthday just passed and I have been with family recently. The upside, though, is I got back into my writing groove it seems.   
> I have a lot of plans still for this fic, and I'm going to be trying my best to cover everything I need to. So don't worry about running dry on excitement any time soon!

In truth, he was terrified to go into the saloon. He was afraid that he’d carelessly accepted with the part of his brain that still felt the tell-tale tug. But he tried to convince himself that this wasn’t giving into an urge – this was having a dinner date with his boyfriend.

Regardless of any internal attempts at reassurance, the confidence that had filled Shane in his bedroom was dwindling the closer they approached. It was a quiet and oddly warm night and his hand was linked firmly in Derek’s. Then, the familiar wooden grain of the saloon door was in front of them too fast and he was suddenly struck by a new wave of nerves. Nerves borne from a self-deprecation that angrily reminded Shane that he was waltzing into the public bar with the advertisement that the gorgeous red-head at his side was with _him_ of all people.

Derek would kick his ass for that train of thought, he entertained briefly.

Reservations aside, Shane supposed he’d prefer to get his first visit to the saloon out of the way sooner rather than later. Sure, a nice hour-long session or two with the fancy doctor might have provided some extra padding; but he also wasn’t going to sit back and pretend the building didn’t exist. Also, there was no way in hell he was letting the farmer go hungry. In fact, when Derek first admitted he hadn’t eaten, he’d gotten a bit miffed. Only he was allowed to neglect his body’s needs, damn it.

Long, slender fingers squeezed his gently. “You sure you’re up for this?” Sometimes, he forgot he was dating a mind reader.

“You sure _you’re_ up for this?” Shane retorted, giving a pointed look at their joined hands. Perhaps he deserved to have his ass kicked.

Derek scoffed and rolled his eyes. “The whole town has to know by now, idiot. Not like we were exactly _platonic_ at the festival last night.”

He snorted at that. “Still, last chance to back out.”

“I will beat you if you don’t hush.”

“You gonna beat me or eat me?” Shane quipped, blushing at his own forwardness. Hopefully, the darkened sky covered it. But Derek knew him too well – he probably didn’t even have to lay eyes on his cheeks to see it.

The farmer pushed open the saloon door with a low laugh. “Depends on how well this first date goes,” he shot back with a wink.

And it was the bantering and the smiles and Derek’s soothing voice in general that gave Shane the nerve to face Monday night’s crowd with the red-head on his arm (because, yes, he had quite literally pulled Shane’s body closer as they walked side-by-side, using his free hand to grip the upper arm attached to their still laced fingers). It was a pair of the brightest ice-blue eyes that kept him anchored like a splash of cold water to the face.

They would’ve made it to the bar without Shane even having to tear his eyes away to face whatever patrons lie ahead. But then a familiar cheery voice sang over to them when they were about halfway there.

“Shane! Derek! I’ve missed you both so much!” Emily chirped, throwing the dishrag she’d been using to wipe a counter with over her shoulder. Then, the blue-haired minx winked at them. “Date night?” she asked with a playful giggle.

And now Shane’s ghost of a smile was dropping as the anxiety weaseled in slowly, taking note of the gazes that were flicking over to them. Clint. Willy. Pam. Marnie. Gus – sitting with her? Harvey. Elliott. At least none of the younger crowd was here tonight. It seemed to be the people within his and Derek’s age group that judged the loudest – save for the writer, maybe. Them and the moms, at least.

“The debut,” Derek joked back.

Emily gasped theatrically and Shane’s eyes did their signature swivel toward the ceiling in a slow arc. “Really? Haven’t you two been together since the spring?” If Shane didn’t know her better, he’d be more agitated at her prying. But he’d come to recognize that innocent tilt of her head that she donned whenever she was curious. She was also the most passive proponent of the rumor mill – seeming to know what information was appropriate to pass around. A gift that many people in this town needed, frankly.

“Just a month or so ago, actually,” Derek corrected as they finally arrived at the bar. “Just been tied up with other things, I guess.” He looked at Shane as if expecting him to say something. What was he supposed to add to this conversation? _Yeah, you know, between the whole almost adding myself to the town cemetery, figuring out how to give a shit about life, and impulsively quitting my job, I’ve been pretty fuckin’ tied up, Em._ He almost cringed at his own internal monologue. Yoba, he was getting morbid.

And even if it _was_ Emily, any amount of talking about his relationship (or any aspect of himself, really) with other people made his anxiety increase. The pair sat in adjacent stools, naturally spreading legs brushing at the knees.

“U-uh, yeah...” Shane mumbled, lamely. If nothing else, he would sure be a top choice for a career as a linguistics professor.

The red-head’s smirk was back. “Though we did kiss well before then, didn’t we?” he mused aloud.

“ _Derek,”_ came the answering groan, as he dragged his free hand down the side of his face.

The bartender laughed loudly before she nodded her head at Shane. “I got the water in just yesterday evening, by the way. Cherry, right?” He nodded numbly, a bit taken aback. He hadn’t realized she’d _ordered_ it for him – he’d just assumed they’d already had it. Embarrassment tugged at him again as his brain mulled over the concept of people going out of their way just to accommodate his obnoxiously ever-present needs. “And what’ll you be having, Derek?” she asked sweetly, without missing a beat.

“A large pizza and a cola. Not JojaCola,” he hastily revised, making a face that amused Shane to no end. “Whatever off-brand version you have.”

Emily chuckled. “Coming right up, boys!” And with that, she was drifting away with the usual pep in her step. He’d never understand how that woman had so much energy; but he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t cheered him up on occasion.

“You’ll help me eat it, right?” Derek turned to him with a smile. “Can’t finish it all myself, despite what my stomach might think.”

And that was just fine and dandy because in truth, what Shane hadn’t confessed was that he’d barely eaten today, either. He really needed to go on a grocery run. But now that he was out of work, the thought of spending money almost made him nauseous. Hoping his stomach’s growl wasn’t audible in the noise of the bar, he found himself nodding with a small, relieved smile.

“Yeah, sure. They always have packets of hot pepper flakes here...” Now his mouth was watering and he felt a bit shameful. He really needed to get a handle on his diet. Another night, though. “It’s killer on pizza.”

Derek’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I didn’t even think about that!” The farmer licked his lips which naturally drew Shane’s gaze there before he looked away, not wanting to get caught. As his eyes flicked over the other patrons, he elbowed the man beside him and imperceptibly nodded to where Gus and Marnie sat.

“Wha’s goin’ on over there?” he wondered aloud.

“Right! You were telling me about her and Lewis.”

Shane found himself smirking with a devilish glee. “She kicked him to the curb, finally. Apparently his balls never dropped.” Derek snickered beside him and it was such a beautiful sound that he found himself turning back to the man.

Then, his boyfriend’s eyebrows furrowed sharply and he looked down, realization painting his face as he suddenly sat up straighter. “Wait a minute...” Then, he looked up at the ceiling and searched it with his eyes, like it was feeding him some sort of memory. “When you were back at the facil-“ He shook his head, catching himself. Shane tried not to wince. “The _city_ , I was in here one night at closin’ time.” Blue eyes found his, briefly adopting a teasing glint. “Missin’ you or whatever,” he said flippantly before donning that thoughtful look again. “Gus was cleanin’ up and he was lookin’ worse for wear, you know? Which was really shocking... ‘specially for _Gus.”_ Shane raised an eyebrow, thoroughly intrigued now. “So anyway, he tells me he’s been worrying ‘bout how some people get treated and... somethin’ about not wanting to step in or, uh... make an ass of himself... and whatnot.” Then, the farmer sighed harshly. “And people had been trynna weasel information out of me about you all day. In fact, earlier that day, Alex-“ But he cut himself off with a hasty wave. _Back up. Alex did what?_ Shane wondered, not liking _that_ one bit. “Never mind. So I thought the old man was trynna just pick my brain like everyone else. But then he started talking about this ‘beautiful woman’ and how she ‘deserved more’ or somethin’ along those lines and-“ The farmer jerked his head in the direction of his aunt’s table. “Long story short, I think he was talking ‘bout _her and Lewis.”_

Shane’s brows were knitted together now, too. He sat up straighter in his stool as he was struck with his own epiphany. “Wait, wait...” He tapped a finger against the bar counter as he spoke. “That night Marnie dumped him, she said she’d been ‘talking to a friend’ about Lewis,” he rushed out, trying to get his thoughts through his mouth before they jumbled up and left him altogether. But actually, that last line was all they needed to connect their mutually surprised looks.

“You’re saying-“

“ _Holy shit.”_ Shane whispered. “So wait... d’you think they’re friends? O-or you think they’re...?”

Derek’s head shook slowly as he bit his lip. “Hard to tell.” Then, a curious head tilt. “Would you hate it if they were?”

The purple-haired man scoffed. “Fuck’s it matter what I think? As long as he doesn’t try to cover her up like an old lamp in his attic, I’m happy for her.” Shane chanced a glance back towards the pair and this time, his aunt caught him and gave him a sheepish grin. He tried for a smile in return but the corners of his mouth seemed to be weighed down with thought, still.

Shane turned back around just in time to see Emily make her way over, balancing their drinks and pizza with a practiced ease. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Derek’s tongue run over his lips again and Shane felt those weird butterflies in the pit of his stomach again.

Only butterflies weren’t supposed to growl, were they?

For a while, neither man spoke as they tore into the pizza like savages (after spicing it up, of course). After his third slice, Shane’s worries about his shape drew him away from the food. On a regular day he could admittedly finish an entire pie – or most of it – by himself. But if he was going to lose any of the unsightly chub around his middle, he couldn’t keep eating like he wasn’t going to wake up tomorrow.

“Oh come on,” Derek teased. “Giving up that easily?” The man smirked as he dug in for a fifth slice. Easy for _him_ to say, Shane couldn’t help but lament. A solid day of farm work would erase any trace of their meal and, even if it didn’t, Derek would look good no matter what size he was.

Shane rested a hand on his stomach with a grimace. “Gotta keep up my stellar figure,” he said sarcastically. “’Specially now that I’m gonna be job searching for a while.” He ran a hand through his violet hair with a sigh because now he was having to _think_ about it all again – how dead his blue hat looked buried on Morris’s desk. How shocked Sam’s face had been. How scandalously _good_ it felt.

Derek let out a long sigh before setting down his pizza and wiping his hands and mouth. A tongue poked around his cheeks to swipe away any residual taste and Shane was beginning to realize just how much he always stared at the man’s mouth. He was so fucking creepy sometimes it was a wonder the farmer put up with it.

“First of all, I love your _figure,”_ he gently mocked Shane’s tone. “You know how much self-control I have to exercise around you on the daily?” Derek sighed dramatically with a dopey smile. And now, Shane was blushing vividly and trying not to short-circuit at his boyfriend’s words. Luckily, the red-head still had more to say because Shane doubted he could get a damn sound out right now. “Also, um...” Blue eyes fell downcast as a nervousness crept onto the freckled face. “I... actually wanted to talk to you about... the whole job thing.” Then, Derek was picking at his nails and the tension was flowing off of him in waves.

What the hell did that mean? Was this the part where he admitted to actually being secretly upset that his boyfriend didn’t have a steady income anymore? Where he admits he’d been bluffing when he’d said it would be better this way? But... Derek was a terrible bluffer, for one, and Shane’s ever-existent paranoia could make him perceptive as hell when he wanted to be. Surely, he would’ve caught on to any insincerity. Right?

The farmer cleared his throat. “A-and I’m not... sure how you’ll feel about it but... I just want you to know beforehand that this... this is something I _need,_ not something I’m... givin’ out.” Where the fuck was this going? His patience was running thin as his mind kicked itself into overdrive during the pauses, trying to fill them in. “But you know I have that giant coop now, right?” Shane gave a small nod, recalling having seen Robin at the farm a few days ago. A set of strong fingers sifted through red curls as Derek let out another careful sigh. “I’m goin’ to Marnie as soon as I can and I’m gonna buy twenty chickens and ten ducks.” Shane nearly choked at that. That was a _lot_ of livestock. Especially if he were starting from zero. “But,” the man continued. “Obviously, that’s... ambitious, to say the least.” _Yeah, no shit. You’ll stretch yourself thin,_ he worried. “So... I’ve kinda decided that I really can’t do that until... until I have another set of hands on deck.” Shane didn’t let himself believe what the man was implying, stubbornly waiting for more words. Derek’s smile was nothing short of nervous, bashful, and hopeful. Not a combination Shane was used to having directed at him. “And I got to thinkin’... that I happen to know the world’s handsomest _chicken boy_ who recently dropped his old, shitty job...”

Shane gulped nervously. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Back when the farmer was still in a brace or cast, he’d helped out on occasion, sure. But this was completely different – this was official.

On one hand, working with his favorite animals while spending time with Derek every weekday (at least) and also getting _paid_ to do it... well, it sounded just a bit too good to be true. What if they ever split? The thought tore at his heart but painful thoughts had never stopped Shane’s pitiful brain before. And, if he could be woefully pragmatic for a minute here, what _would_ happen then? He’d unemployed _and_ heartbroken? That just seemed like a dangerous combination. One he wasn’t at all sure he’d be able to handle.

Derek began shifting in his stool nervously. “You’re, uh... you’re just kinda starin’ there. Wanna let me know what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout?” Shane ripped his gaze away, giving his head a brief, sobering shake before sighing.

“I... I don’t know if... I mean...” he trailed off and looked into his open palms, studying the crinkles of his skin. “Wouldn’t it be a bit... weird to be datin’ your employee?” Even saying it out loud made him cringe. It sounded like one of his aunt’s shitty soap operas.

“Babe, I’m not proposin’ that I be your boss.” And Shane’s breath had already hitched at the first appearance of the pet name – which seemed to have some peculiar calming effect on his whirling brain. “We’d be business partners. I can draw up a contract. Lewis can officiate it- if you don’t pummel him into the ground first, that is,” Derek interrupted himself with a snort. “And after a year, we can drag it back up... make revisions as needed or... make it... permanent...”

Shane’s palms made their way into his hair as he exhaled deeply, knee beginning to jostle. For some reason, this felt like an even bigger leap than marriage. This was the man’s grandfather’s farm that had been passed down to him. It had been around since before either of them were even born and he was asking Shane to get his grimy little hands all over it? As “business partners”? What the hell did that even mean?

One of Derek’s hands climbed up his arm to curl around his wrist and gently tug his right hand from his hair to hold it. “Look, Shane... I know it’s a lot to throw at you. I know it’s not an easy decision. But we’d split profits down the middle. For the most part, you’d handle all the livestock, including the... cows and goats or whatever that I get in the future.” A thumb was rubbing soothing circles into his palm. “I’d do the crops. We’d... we’d be a team. And, look, I really wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need help.” The hand squeezed his, pleading almost. And Shane couldn’t help but _wonder_ why _him_ of all people? Why not someone with years of experience? Sure, he was good with Marnie’s chickens; but he didn’t spend nearly as much time with ducks or rabbits or anything bigger than a fucking _bird._ What potential did Derek even see in him?

Shane’s mouth decided to voice his thoughts finally: “Why... me, though? I don’t... I don’t even know much. I do chickens, Red. That’s really it.” He shook his head, forehead still tensed in confusion and disbelief.

“Yeah, well I don’t know shit about the crops I put into the ground this morning but that’s the beauty of it all. Learning. What works? What doesn’t? How much can you handle? And Shane”—another hand crept up to force him to look at the farmer—“I know what I can handle. I’m only one person. Grandpa never had much livestock for this exact reason and I don’t want that to be the case again.” Derek’s thumb stroked his cheek affectionately and a brief reminder that they were in public coursed through him; but he didn’t have the energy to pay it much mind at the moment. “I _need_ you,” the red-head whispered. “Really and truly, I do. Please... raise me some beautiful chickens, Shane.”

Shane’s head was spinning but the thumb on his cheek and the thumb in his palm were keeping him from denying the reality of this moment. The _weight_ of this moment.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, Red, you know that?” he muttered weakly.

Derek let out a deep laugh, his entire palm pressing against Shane’s cheek to radiate warmth. And his emotion-wrought mind was too busy to lament the way he instinctively nuzzled into that touch like a needy dog. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he attempted to gather himself.

“This is _big,”_ Shane whispered, feeling his lips brush the soft skin of Derek’s hand.

“I know. That’s why you’re the only one in the entire goddamn world who I’d ever ask.” Opening his eyes again, he locked with the most sincere and gentle gaze. Was there potential for this to backfire? Always. Were they perhaps rushing into a commitment that was bigger than they realized? Probably.

But at the end of the day, he still needed to provide for his daughter. This decision was bigger than just his anxieties over whether or not this would end up destroying him. Because he had to try – for Jas at the very least. It was this or commuting to a city job and, quite frankly, Shane couldn’t picture himself doing that every day. In fact, if you were to hold a gun to his head and force him to let himself picture an idyllic future... well, Derek’s proposition hit really fuckin’ close. As in, quite-possibly-but-also-definitely square on the mark.

“But do I _deserve_ that?!” he hissed, before immediately flinching. That had been meant to stay in his head. Shane blushed in mute shame at the growl and slightly rough shake of both his pinkened cheeks that he got in response.

“I’m going to erase that _fucking word_ from your vocabulary, I swear.” And then, the farmer’s lips were on his for a brief moment and panic flared in him again as they pulled away, his eyes darting around to the other patrons. But the Monday night’s bunch really were the more reserved type, it seemed. “Look, you don’t have to make a decision toni-“

“Yes.”

Shane closed his eyes as soon as the word left him; but he channeled his attention into the firm grip framing his face. He’d take this leap. For Derek, for Jas, and – reluctantly – for himself. Maybe everything would turn out just fine, right? Then, they’d get rich and run off into the sunset together and Jas’s storybooks will have leaked into reality. Fuck, he was screwed.

“Yes?” Derek whispered in excitement. “As in _yes_ yes?!” And it didn’t matter if Shane could be screwing himself over because just the raw joy in that tone would make the leap worth it. In fact, he opened his eyes again just to catch that joy in person. And this time, it was _Shane_ who was crushing his mouth against the farmer’s.

“Yes,” he mumbled against Derek’s lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Red.” Shane pulled back, feeling vulnerable. “It terrifies me to think... think about how much stock you’re puttin’ into me. A month or more ago, I wouldn’t have even let you bank on me seein’ my next day.” He kept his voice low and watched the flood of emotions coil into blue light. “There’s... so much for me to fuck up. And I know... that there’s no way I won’t.” _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, you blubbering idiot,_ Shane chanted in his mind. A tear did not obey him, however. It fell and broke right on the side of Derek’s hand as his boyfriend still cradled his face.

The farmer let out a mirthless chuckle. “You think I don’t say that to myself every damn day?” His smile was soft but his brows were still firmly set into an intense and heartfelt honesty. “If I spent all day worryin’ about all the little ways I could mess up... I’d never get a single seed in the soil.” Then, Derek pulled their foreheads together and Shane let his eyelids flutter closed, resting his own hands on the farmer’s knees that jutted out before them, relaxing into the sensation of being close. Publicity be damned.

“A-as long as you’re sure...” Shane said softly.

He felt Derek’s forehead move against his as the other man nodded hastily. “The surest I’ve ever been,” he insisted firmly. “So sure, in fact... that I _may_ have already gone to Lewis myself and had the papers drawn.”

Shane’s eyes shot open and his jaw dropped slightly in shock. “Before I even quit?!” He was met with a cheeky grin and wildly excited eyes.

Yoba, this man was really going to be the death of him.


	29. We Mayor May Not Be Rushing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! My writing has been slowing down a bit lately. So, it may not be completely feasible for me to post every day anymore but hopefully it gives people enough of a chance to leave suggestions or feedback if they feel like it! I love anything y'all have to say.
> 
> Anywhooo~ here's another heart event.  
> And more shenanigans.

Bright and early the next morning, Shane’s knee was bouncing as he sat beside the farmer at Lewis’s kitchen table, contract laid out before them. It wasn’t that lengthy and the jargon was fairly easy to digest. One full year of him being entitled by law to a position on the farm and, as Derek had said last night, half of the profits during that year. The fact that he was meant to be entitled to _anything_ made his stomach churn.

But, oddly enough, it seemed that not even his awkward tango with crippling self-doubt could overshadow the anger he was having to repeatedly bite down every time the mayor so much as breathed.

“Now, Shane, if you’ll sign here.” The annoyingly chipper voice stoked the fire in his belly. Lewis tapped the signature line with the pen before laying it on the paper for him. His hand clumsily unraveled so that his stiff fingers could grapple at the utensil with the motor skills of a toddler. Before he touched ink to law, he looked over at the red-head and caught his eye.

“Last chance to back out,” he croaked.

“Less talkin’, more writin’, chicken boy,” Derek quipped with a small smirk.

Sighing, he hastily scrawled his name in the indicated spot and nearly shoved the contract away from him as if the papers would burn him for marking them. His leg was bouncing so hard that he was nearly tap dancing in his chair. The movement soothed him. Shane also hoped it would wear the laminate layer of the mayor’s hardwood flooring.

“And now, Der-“

But the man beside him cut Lewis short, yanking the pen from the old man’s grasp and gliding it across the adjacent signature line. His script looked painfully elegant next to Shane’s chicken scratch. Sitting back, Derek gave him a pointed look. Fine, fine. Message received, he supposed. Like at the beginning of their relationship, Shane found it was becoming easier to just believe his boyfriend’s words against his laughable excuse of a self-esteem.

“We all set?” Derek asked Lewis while still keeping his blues on green. The mayor cleared his throat, probably not used to being addressed as though he weren’t even in the room. That’s what it took for one corner of Shane’s mouth to turn upward. He’d always been enamored with how every move of the farmer’s seemed to be carefully planned. Subtlety was his strong suit and while Shane might be too stupid to pull it off himself, he at least wasn’t too dense to pick up on it.

“Yes... I suppose we are,” Lewis said, trying to keep his voice even. They stood in a peculiar synchrony and made toward the front door. “Sh-shane... er- hold on a minute.” He spun around reluctantly, mouth setting in a firm line. “Could... could you tell Mar-“

A bark-like _‘ha!’_ erupted from Shane’s chest and past his lips. The force of it almost startled his damn self but the large and almost predatory smirk that curled his mouth covered any trace of that. “That’s enough outta you, Purple Panties.”

And he strolled his happy ass right out of that house.

Derek’s delirious howls of laughter when the red-head caught up mere seconds later were downright _musical._ When arms wrapped around his neck and turned him around mere feet from Pierre’s shop windows, he found that the song of mirth quelled any unwelcome anxiety around kissing the man in the middle of town on a Tuesday morning.

The red-head was still chuckling when their lips disconnected. “I _cannot_ believe you said that to his fuckin’ _face.”_

“That’s what I imagined you’d say after the first time.”

“ _The first-“_ And the farmer wheezed which made Shane’s ghost-smile turn opaque and dopey.

“Right in front of my kid, too.” And he was biting his lip because he just couldn’t help himself. Not if it meant he got to hear Derek’s laughs grow in intensity; the force of them causing the red-head to casually drape joyously trembling limbs around him.

Shane buried his own deep chuckles into the crook of the other man’s neck. “Stop, I can’t _brea-“_ Derek begged, panting. In response, he hummed against the skin of his boyfriend’s throat; it was mind-numbing how giddy he felt right now. He’d just signed up for a year of good fortune that he might or might not completely fuck up. But for now, the proponent of good fortune was cackling at his shitty jokes and making him feel _wanted._

As those thoughts coursed through him, Shane nuzzled his stupid smile further against Derek while wrapping his arms around the farmer’s waist and pulling their bodies flush together. “Thank you,” he whispered. He swore he felt the man shudder.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Derek chuckled, rubbing one hand up and down his back as the other one curled into the purple hair at the nape of Shane’s neck and held his smile close to his collarbone. “What’s everyone gonna think when they find out the grouch is really a big teddy bear?” But he only held the red-head tighter and, since Shane was hunched over him, the man was dipped even further backwards.

Inhaling the sweet scent of Derek’s cologne and shampoo, he let out another hum; this one thoughtful. “Guess I’ll hafta deal.”

**Derek**

It was Wednesday and both men had agreed that Shane would take the rest of this week as a transitional period before he began on Monday. This period also allowed Derek to make doubly sure he was prepared. Robin was currently building a large silo next to the deluxe coop and they chatted idly as the banging of her hammer rang across the farm.

Thankfully, they talked about nothing more than pleasantries. She was always quite easy to talk to, he realized, and never tried to nose into his business. All Robin cared for was doing a spectacular job and being a friendly face. As he finished watering his crops, he decided he’d take a break and walk into town. Waving goodbye to the dutiful mother who’d just moved on from the finished foundation – Yoba, she worked quickly – Derek tried to ignore the heat that still lingered in the valley and made his sleeves stick uncomfortably to his skin.

Making his way into town, his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he took in the scene before him. Shane was behind the viewfinder of a video camera propped up on a tripod. In front of him – and facing each other a bit awkwardly – were Emily and Clint.

“Okay, here we go. You two remember your lines?” Shane called out. At their mutual nod, the farmer saw him push a button and give them a thumbs-up. Realizing they were rolling, Derek hung back so as not to disturb them. Emily’s voice drifted over the square, her tone marking her words as obviously scripted.

“I thought we had something special,” she said in her best rendition of a forlorn voice. “Guess I was wrong...”

 _What the hell is this for?_ Derek wondered. _And since when did Shane get into filming? Where had he even gotten this equipment?_ Was this some sort of secret hobby he’d been hiding? Should he walk home and pretend he didn’t accidentally stumble upon it?

The red-head’s confusion was interrupted as he saw Clint fidgeting nervously. “I- I... uh...”

“Cut!” Shane grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The blacksmith turned away from the bartender and averted his eyes. “S-sorry! I... it’s just hard to remember my lines when... when her face is just right in front of me like that!” His cheeks immediately went bright red and Emily’s eyes widened before she awkwardly shifted her weight to her other foot. And Yoba, it was the most uncomfortable interaction in the world, but Derek couldn’t hold back a loud snort.

 _Shit,_ he thought as all three of them whipped around to face him. He blanched, uneasy at being caught eavesdropping. But Shane was barely holding in his own shit-eating smirk at what Clint had said and when the man saw Derek, it broke free.

“Red!” The purple-haired director waved him over. He approached slowly, letting confusion take over his features again.

“What’s all this? Never knew you were into camerawork.” The farmer peered over his boyfriend’s shoulder to look through the viewfinder. A red light blinked steadily nearby. “It’s still recording?”

“Yeah, I’ll edit it all out later,” Shane replied with a flap of his hand. “And uh... I haven’t been since... Jillian, really.” With his voice low and between the two of them, Emily and Clint had been left to iron out that damning confession. From the corner of his eye, he saw the blue-haired woman gingerly pat him on the shoulder. “JojaMart has an ad contest going on for a ten thousand gold cash prize. Thought I wouldn’t be able to enter since I quit and all... but I found my old employee handbook and _technically_ I’m still an employee as long as I’m on payroll.” His pink lips curled into a confident smirk. “And the pay period doesn’t end ‘til Sunday.”

Derek soaked in his words and ended up chuckling at the end. “Well, you should keep doing it. Even after the contest, I mean. You look like you know what the hell you’re doing.”

Shane’s cheeks grew a shade pinker as he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “Y-yeah, maybe...” Then, he perked up as a thought seemed to hit him. “Hey, how about I get you in the shot, too?”

“U-uh... I’m no... actor,” Derek rushed out with a wave of his hand.

A snort punctuated the quiet reply: “Neither are they...”

“You’re sure?”

Shane dipped his gaze to the viewfinder as he pointed at the background behind his two amateur stars. “Yeah, look. All you gotta do is walk across the screen in the background while they _hopefully”—_ he shot a brief grimace at Clint, whose back was still to them—“get their lines right. It’ll add authenticity. Please?” And Derek gave a small smile, looking up at Shane through his lashes and nodding softly.

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when I fuck it up,” he teased. His boyfriend just scoffed with a playful eye roll and settled back into his position.

Derek ambled over to the bushes just slightly off screen. The pair turned towards Shane, realizing they were about to do another take. With the call of ‘Action!’, they faced each other and tried again.

“I thought we had something special...” Emily recited once more. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me but I guess that was a lie.” Shane then locked eyes with Derek and nodded. _Right, okay,_ the farmer thought as he began moving with his head forward, forcing his gait to be casual. _I’m just a random shmuck going to Pierre’s for... groceries._ Didn’t actors always make up some sort of backstory for their character? Before he knew it, he was safely off set again.

“No, you don’t understand!” Clint parroted back. The man actually wasn’t half bad when he could stifle his weird friend-boner. “This is something I have to do. It’s important to me.” He turned towards the camera. “I’ve just _got_ to try new Joja Bluu Cola! It’s got three times the sorbitol for a thick, sweet blast! And it’s cheaper than water.”

Derek came _dangerously_ close to groaning. For all of Shane’s apparent talent behind the camera, the script was adorably cheesy. But also, JojaCola was fucking disgusting. It was cheaper than water because it was about as nutritious as acidic soil. Tasted similar, too, Derek recalled.

“You promised me!” Emily exclaimed. “You promised you would take your health more seriously...”

Clint’s responding chuckle was convincingly easy-going as he held up a can of the soda. “Have no fear, my dear! The world-class scientists at Joja Headquarters have determined that Joja Bluu does not cause significant erosion of the stomach lining!”

There was no way these weren’t pieces of script that the contest forced the participants to worm in. Shane couldn’t even _think_ of something that corny, let alone ask people to repeat it for him. It was damn amusing, though, even if Derek’s nose was scrunched in blatant disgust at the intentionally misleading health information being advertised.

The brunette man continued on: “So you can drink as much as you like whenever you like!” _Sure, if you enjoy vomiting,_ Derek chuckled internally. “The real question is: When will YOU turn Bluu?” Then, to his horror, Clint knocked back the entire can in one go. Once done, he held the can back in the camera’s view with an exaggerated smile.

“Cut!” Shane yelled. “Thank you all, that should do it.” Then, he looked up from the camera at his actors and frowned in slight concern. “Uh... you okay there, Clint?” Derek tore his eyes away to look at the blacksmith who was suddenly pale. A burly hand darted to his robust belly before he dashed past Emily, whipped off the lid of Gus’s garbage bin, and loudly retched into it. “Oh, _fuck!”_ Shane murmured. “Maybe I shoulda filled it with water or something.”

“I’ll go make sure he’s okay,” Emily offered, jogging over to the hunched form in front of the saloon.

The farmer walked back over to Shane and bit his lip to contain another chuckle. He watched as the other man began packing up his supplies before he turned to face Derek.

“That... was a mess. Gonna have to do some heavy editing work.” But that lopsided smile was ghosting his lips and the red-head couldn’t help but return it. “You did great, by the way.”

Derek chortled, shaking his head. “Glad you enjoyed my very difficult role of ‘Guy Walking’,” he snarked.

“Not tripping is half the battle.”

“You’re just trynna butter me up, chicken boy.”

Shane clicked his tongue and moved a half-step closer. Damn, confidence was coming more and more easily to him and it was a mind-numbingly attractive look. “Nah,” his voice rumbled. “If I wanted to do that, I woulda said how much I liked watchin’ you walk away in those jeans.” By the time the last word fell from his lips, his voice was damn near a purr. Derek felt heat pool in his face and in the pit of his stomach but he fought to keep up through his suddenly foggy thoughts.

He hooked his index finger into the front of the neckline of Shane’s gray t-shirt, barely tugging on it; lazily pressing his loose fist against the man’s chest. “You should watch what you say before I jump you in broad fuckin’ daylight,” he husked, before touching his lips to the other pair fleetingly and pulling back. The resulting growl and dilated eyes that faced him widened Derek’s smirk.

“I’d let you if I didn’t promise Jas I’d be home soon.” Shane slung his camera bag over a shoulder and fiddled with the strap. “Also, uh... wanted to see if you wanted to go to the saloon again?” Like night and day, the anxiety was back in his voice. “Er- Friday?”

“Friday...” Derek repeated back with a surprised tone. “That’s-“

“A lot, I know.”

The farmer sighed and gave himself a moment to think before slowly nodding. “Sure, of course.” Then, he smiled to confirm the affirmation. “I’d love to.”

Shane’s lips twitched upwards faintly and he readjusted the strap’s position on his shoulder as if it’d been slipping. “When should I meet you tomorrow, by the way?”

For their first therapy session, right. Derek hadn’t actually thought much about timing, yet.

“Well... it takes- what? Forty five minutes to get there by bus, right? So we’d wanna catch the two o’clock.”

Shane gave him a look. “’M sure Marnie’s fine with us usin’ her truck. She only ever needs it on Sundays, anyway,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh, right! Perfect,” Derek chirped. “That’s actually great because I need to get some shit from the city... if that’s okay?” He rubbed his neck, embarrassed at having Shane cart him around in his aunt’s vehicle. “I-I’ll be quick, promise. Just need... um, well...” This was going to be difficult to say aloud, when this mission had so far only lived in the confines of his skull. “I’m gonna... start wearing short sleeves... like, in general or whatever.” Derek was too ashamed to make eye contact. Every time he’d thought about covering himself up less, his brain would growl that he was nothing but an attention-seeker who begged people for compassion like a sickly, stray dog. Countless times, he’d guilted himself into uncomfortable clothing and he was so sick of it, to be honest. If they were meant to get better, he couldn’t imagine a ‘better’ in which he still hid constantly.

Shane’s hand came up to cup one of his cheeks and guide Derek into eye contact with forest-colored irises that held something so much softer than what Shane usually allowed them to. It held the same uneasiness as the violet-haired man’s question of a second bar date; but it also held so much love that Derek’s hand dropped from the nape of his neck. Maybe one day, they’d stop using that identical spot as a worry stone. Staring into his boyfriend’s vulnerably honest look, Derek’s brain churned but did not growl. And that was enough to convince himself it was time.

Neither of them even said anything. They didn’t have to. Everything was said in the silent contemplation; words delivered in the slow blinks and lingering fingertips. 

Well, everything except: “We’re gonna get through this, right?” Spoken by the red-head, who wrapped his arms around the other’s neck.

Shane chuckled, burying his face in Derek’s hair. “You’re trynna draw up confidence from the wrong well, Red.” But that was bullshit – just Shane not giving himself credit in typical Shane-fashion. His confidence showed through in so many moments and _he_ might not see, but Derek saw. In fact, he would say he’d just cranked up a full bucket of courage as soon as Shane merely looked at him. Or commented on his fucking skinny jeans. A warm sigh flooded the top of the farmer’s head. “But... when it’s with you it always seems more manageable.”

They both pulled back slightly and leaned in to share a longer, but still modest kiss. A non-verbal agreement that they’d do whatever they could do get through tomorrow unscathed. That they’d begin a long process of healing that was reluctantly dependent on only their own selves. That when they went clothes shopping tomorrow, green and blue would make a lovely shade of teal as often as it was needed to quell the knots that Dr. Montgomery needed more than sixty minutes to massage out.

That Friday would move similarly; wherein they would roll with whatever punches that were thrown their way. Because even when life proved to be utter shit, enveloping them in doubt, they’d slowly been discovering truths that were simply irrefutable. One of them was the way Shane was getting gradually livelier, finding more rare moments to stifle what Derek could only imagine was a nasty swarm of darkness. Another one was the way he himself had found the crushing weight of potential abandonment to be slightly lifting off his exhausted shoulders. He wasn’t throwing himself at the mercy of strangers or tall farm trees to fulfill a void his parents left behind.

They were hesitant to put too much hope into everything; especially when they had a triathlon in front of them and they were only crouched at the starting line. But there were moments like these – where their lips were connected, eyes closed, and senses intermingled – that were just as hard to refute. And even if they didn’t _want_ to call it hope; it damn sure felt like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is therapy and it's been a long wait for the boys.


	30. Push Me Out, I'll Pull You Back In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long chapter, but you all deserve it for being so patient with me! So thank you a lot. I've mentioned it in a comment, but I wanted to reiterate here: likely not going to be able to upload every day anymore. Life picked up and I have no more content that I've written ahead of time.  
> In fact, this chapter is very *loosely* proofread, but hopefully there are no typos.
> 
> Lastly, I accidentally revealed Emily's sexuality that wasn't supposed to be revealed until THIS chapter (that's what happens when you write in separate segments *sigh*) so I tweaked that one allusion out of Chapter 29.  
> I also corrected a small plot error from Chapter 2. Hopefully no one noticed it, but I sure face-palmed when I did.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been leaving feedback! It's very much appreciated <3

It was noon on Thursday when Derek knocked tentatively on the ranch’s front door and immediately drew his arms to his sides.

He was greeted by a confused Shane, who took one look at the black t-shirt he wore and grew even more puzzled.

“H-hey, uh... you know I would’ve picked you up... right?”

Derek’s eyes fell to the doormat as he shifted awkwardly and tried not to let the reaction hurt him too much. He should’ve known better than to just show up at the man’s house like this – where his family could see. Where _Jas_ could see. Yoba, he was such a fucking idiot. His hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt nervously. “Oh! Right, sorry, I can go-“

“No!” Shane exclaimed, hand darting out to encircle the farmer’s wrist before he could pull away. And it was the smallest of gestures, sure. But the combination of realizing the man not only had zero hesitation around touching the areas Derek despised the most, but that Shane _also_ remembered that the old scarring wasn’t _painful_ to touch, was enough for the hurt to vanish. “No, no. I just didn’t expect you’d be, um...” Derek saw as his lips faltered, trying to voice the thoughts he harbored behind those eyes. “It’s not a big deal,” he grumbled, mostly to himself it seemed. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot, I’m sorry.”

“Funny, I was just calling myself the same thing,” the red-head snorted. Shane clicked his tongue and pulled him roughly past the doorframe and into a warm hug. As Derek’s bare forearms looped around his boyfriend’s neck, he tried not to cringe at the way his jagged skin looked against the smooth expanse of Shane’s throat. His eyes closed, desperate not to see it anymore; desperate not to feel like he were somehow tainting the man whose muscular arms demanded nothing short of melting proximity.

Suddenly, a young voice rang out in excitement. “Derek! Aunt Marnie, look, Derek’s here!” Then, an adorable child was bouncing up to them and the farmer unglued himself from the embrace and faced Jas with a grin. He also saw Marnie poke her head out from the kitchen and give him a wave before darting back in, seeming to be in the middle of cooking lunch.

“Hey, girlie. Nice to see you, too.” Instinctively, he reached out to ruffle her hair but his brain caught up a moment too late to scream at him not to brandish his sickening marks within her sight. And it caused him to noticeably falter with his right arm mid-reach, which was _worse_ because now the girl’s eyes involuntarily drifted towards the movement. The moment her purple irises widened, Derek’s stomach flipped.

“You need a band-aid? I got lots!” And the red-head’s brow furrowed because that was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

Shane groaned. _“Jasmine-“_

“’S okay.” Derek rushed to interrupt. It was only going to be more awkward if they kept denying her any semblance of answer. Or at least reassurance. Yes, reassurance... he could do that. “I’m all better now but thanks, princess. Happened long ago.” He smiled and finally completed the motion of ruffling her hair, which caused her to giggle and squirm away.

“Dad says you’re going to the city today!” The topic was instantly dropped. Man, he loved Jas. “But he said it’s not for fun,” she frowned.

Derek nodded solemnly, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. “Yeah. Sorry, kiddo, it’s adult stuff.” He wondered if Shane had told her what they were going to be doing every week. It wasn’t like they hadn’t already discussed the concept of getting help with her. “Maybe another time, hm?”

Jas nodded and before she could say anything else, Marnie came shuffling out of the kitchen. She was wiping her hands on a dish towel with a wide smile, brown eyes glittering. “Lovely for you to stop by, Derek,” she greeted. Her eyes drifted over him and he didn’t have time to do more than twitch when her eyes fell upon the newly exposed skin. The falter in her smile was a mere hitch; and it was that split-second of recognition that Derek supposed he’d have to get used to for the time being. Just like when he’d broken his arm, he’d have to stomach the brief period of people recalibrating their image of him in secret – behind their stuttering eyes.

Marnie’s image of him didn’t seem to sour, though, but she wasn’t one he was worried about. In fact, the reason he’d even come over here in the first place was because he trusted this family the most. It was a gentle ease into this dreadful process.

“I’ve made salmon, potatoes, and green beans for lunch! Need a big meal for a big day in the city, no?”

Derek blanched. Fish was one of the foods he hated the most; but telling her was surely not an option. He’d learned that very quickly in the system. Rejecting one meal was a sure-fire way to be denied the next two or three; and while he was an adult who wasn’t remotely dependent on anyone else for food, the consequence was still the same – a ticket to animosity, punishment, scorn. It would just manifest differently. Maybe he wouldn’t be welcomed over anymore, or maybe her image of him _would_ finally sour.

“U-uh, yeah. Sure. Good. Great, th-thanks,” he stammered. Marnie gave him a small, confused smile but ushered them into the kitchen all the same. The table was already set with the food laid out on plates framed by silverware. Derek gingerly sat down across from the stout woman, Shane sliding into the chair next to him and Jas beside her aunt.

The three others talked amicably while Derek ate the side items, skirting around the salmon. Guilt pooled in his stomach. It looked like Marnie had put a lot of effort into it but the thought of the slimy texture and overpowering _fish_ taste made his palms sweat like they had at various other kitchen tables.

“Derek, honey... you alright?” Marnie’s voice drifted over to him, snapping him out of the apparent trance he’d fallen into. “The way you’re starin’ off into space, I coulda mistaken you for that one,” she jested, pointing her fork at Shane. The farmer forced a chuckle and squirmed in his seat. “My cooking ain’t that bad, is it?” And she was giggling but Derek waved his arms wildly.

“N-no! No! No, no, no. No, not that-“ He was interrupted by one of his wayward hands knocking the edge of his plate. The lightweight dish toppled but wouldn’t have fallen – except for Derek’s fumbling reflexes, which _did_ send it careening off the table and into his lap, spilling fish all down the front of his shirt. He let out a startled cry. “ _Agh!_ I’m s-sorry, I’m s-“

Shane stood abruptly, chair scraping back as he leaned into the farmer’s space and helped him pick up the dropped entree. “Hey, hey,” he said gently. “Chill, Red. We’ll go back to your place and let you change. Don’t worry.”

“Let me get you something to wipe up your shirt with!” Marnie said, standing up and rushing over to the sink. Then, Derek was out of his chair, trying not to panic in the middle of their goddamn kitchen. Because he was a clumsy mess of a person who couldn’t just admit a dietary preference and who now _reeked_ of fucking _fish._

“I- I- I d-don’t have any other shirts,” he croaked, fisting his hair in his right hand. “I’m s-“

Shane shook his head and put a hand on Derek’s back, guiding him out of the kitchen and into his bedroom, before closing the door behind them. Then, he quietly removed the clenched hand from the farmer’s curls. At his touch, Derek slowly began to relax and scythe through the fog in his brain. Shane waited patiently, giving the hand he’d rescued a squeeze.

“I... don’t like fish,” Derek mumbled.

Shane’s head tilted back as he laughed loudly, eliciting a petulant pout from the farmer. “Why didn’t you just _say_ somethin’?!”

“’Cause it’s rude! Only one of us is notorious for that.”

The laughs simmered as a pair of green eyes rolled dramatically. “Why are you makin’ such a big deal? I don’t eat chicken and you don’t eat fish. It’s not a problem.” And Shane was smiling but Derek only scowled deeper. He felt mocked by his boyfriend and he was also still revolted by the stench of fish wafting from his shirt. Shane might not understand but that didn’t mean he had to belittle him.

“Easy for you to say,” Derek spat. The other man’s brow instantly furrowed at the tone, showing an instinctive defensiveness tinged with confusion. “You’ve never given a shit ‘bout bein’ an ass.” Some alarm bell was ringing in the back of the farmer’s head. An alarm bell screaming that his panic was manifesting into a thick anger and that anger was _not_ supposed to have Shane on the receiving end. But his anger was a loud crashing that drowned out the pitiful bell. Right now, his entire body was on the defense – avoiding the threat of abandonment by ironically pushing towards it.

“What the _fuck_ is up with you?” Shane growled. He hadn’t heard that tone in ages and it fueled the anger swarming in Derek’s head – giving it purpose. The build up was happening so fast that he couldn’t even gather the reins of his mind fast enough to remember why he was even angry. It was blind and it was spun from a survival-of-the-fittest mindset that he swore he’d burned when he’d left foster care.

“What’s up with _you?!”_ His words shot past his lips as he stepped closer to the violet-haired man, getting in his space. And it wasn’t the usual intimate proximity they’d been sharing – it was dark and swirled with the wrong colors. Reds and oranges where greens and blues were supposed to be. Scalding colors where cool ones were supposed to reside.

And Shane’s eyes were a smoky hue of hurt and mottled agitation. He seemed to be gritting his teeth quite hard, evident in his words: “I don’t know what’s crawled up your ass today-“

His face was strangely replaced by another, then. Derek wondered if it was a trick of the light or an illusion brought on by the panic; but for a split second, all he saw was a harsh, mud-brown glare in front of him. A glare that he vaguely recognized as belonging to one of the many bitter old women who only took in kids for the checks and treated them accordingly. One who’d met his hunger pains with contempt or apathy. One who’d matched his fiery anger with freezing cruelty. And the farmer shoved her away like he had on his last day under her roof.

But when she stumbled back, it was with Shane’s feet. And Derek’s rage drained as quickly as the color in his face. Because it was rough stubble and not wrinkled skin on her cheeks. _I put my hands on him,_ he thought in a wild panic. _I put my hands on him. I put my **fucking** hands on him. _Tears began streaming down his face and he needed to run away like the monstrous coward he was; but he was frozen in place.

Frozen as he watched Shane’s eyes cycle through shock, hurt, anger, and then a mix of all three. It was then that Derek felt the tip of his own tongue tapping the roof of his mouth as he whispered a quiet mantra of _‘no, no, no’_ under his breath. The other man’s jaw set tightly, temple bulging; and of all the words whizzing through his brain, he could choke out only three:

“I need help...”

Shane sighed, nostrils flaring, before he whipped out his phone to look at the time. Then, he turned and rummaged through a drawer of his dresser and pulled out a sky-blue t-shirt. Wordlessly, he walked over to Derek without looking at him directly and offered the clothing. Derek’s hand shook madly as he sank his fingers into the fabric and felt it fall limp into his grasp.

“I’ll be in the truck,” Shane said flatly.

Numb, the farmer slowly pulled off his soiled shirt and replaced it with the blue one.

As he slunk outside and into the truck’s passenger seat, he tried not to think about how much it smelled like his stoic boyfriend.

* * *

“Derek Matthews and Shane Robinson?”

Both men sat up in their chairs before standing and following the feminine voice that had called out across Dr. Montgomery’s waiting room. The whole car ride had been silent, save for whatever music the radio was playing. It was incredibly tense between them and Derek was starting to worry that the appointment they’d been long awaiting was going to go to utter shit.

All because of him.

The guilt kept threatening to send up his meager lunch and sometimes it twisted so harshly that he could do no more than wince. They approached a graying, blonde woman who was slightly shorter than them but definitely more lively and warm. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun but a few strands fell over her face and the glasses perched on her nose.

“Nice to meet you, gentlemen. I’m Dr. Lisa Montgomery, but you can just call me Lisa.” Her voice was even more soothing than it had been on the phone and her eyes crinkled in the corners when her smile reached them. She shook their hands and led the way to her office.

Lisa sat in a large armchair, leaving them a couch in front of her. They sat gingerly on the admittedly comfortable cushions and Derek laced his hands in his lap.

“So, what’s been going on lately?” The way she phrased it was so deliberately careful; inviting. Derek wasn’t sure which one of them was supposed to speak up but he doubted Shane would break the ice.

“Um... a lot, I guess,” he mumbled, laced fingers beginning to twitch and fidget.

The woman hummed, nodding. “Okay, well then let’s just start with today. What have you two done today so far?”

The farmer swallowed thickly. This was already so difficult and they were still on Small Talk 101. “W-well, I watered the crops... went to have lunch with him and his”—blue eyes darted briefly to fall on the other man’s knee before skittering away”—aunt and, um... y’know his daughter... and stuff...” Yoba, he was really failing in the language department right now. “Then we drove here.” The last few words were shoved out at once; an attempt to end with some semblance of surety.

“Right,” she nodded. “Excuse me while I put faces to names; but- farming, you said? That means I’m looking at”—her pen gestured to the red-head—“Derek and”—the utensil flicked to his companion—“Shane, correct?” She paused as Derek gave her a short nod. “Okay, making sure. Sorry, I should have asked back in the lobby but it seemed the session had started there, too, no?” Lisa’s smile was gentle and knowing, making the farmer’s eyes finally stop flitting around and focus on her.

“’S fine,” Shane spoke for the first time. The doctor’s attention immediately snapped onto him.

“So, Shane,” she began. “Tell me your rendition of how today has gone thus far.”

The man beside him sighed, folding his arms over his chest and tilting his right foot up on its toes. With his signature knee bounce, he replied: “Woke up, got dressed, ate, came here.” Derek hated how curt and distant the reply was, but he hated even more that it was his fault. He had shoved Shane back into a shell out of a selfish inability to just fucking _communicate._

“Okay, well.” Lisa let out a small sigh, smile still balanced and genuine as she crossed her legs amicably and sat back in a relaxed and welcoming position. “I would like you both to be aware that I am quite blunt. In fact, I’ve had clients who decided I was a bit too blunt for their tastes. And that’s perfectly fine; but sometimes you need to pack a punch to get to the root of an issue.” Her slender fingers pushed those glasses further up her nose. “And with an hour per session, I tend to not waste time on dancing towards the root. Facing it head on tends to be the more favorable approach.” Picking up her clipboard from her lap, she jotted a small note and dragged the ink in a horizontal line across the page. “With that being said, something has happened today between the two of you or _to_ the two of you.” Her eyes turned onto Derek. “Now, when you mentioned lunch with Shane’s family, something seemed to be troubling you. Could you tell me what went on?”

* * *

After the session – which had begun shakily but grown steadily more conducive – the two men were sitting in Marnie’s truck again. Shane’s grip on the steering wheel was heavy; but not tense. Since Derek had finally hashed out what had been going on in his head, Lisa had helped them point out the areas where they had needed to communicate. Firstly, she informed the red-head that past transgressions against him were not doomed to be repeated; and that he should trust in the people close to him to not repeat old cycles. Next, she’d said they both needed to communicate when they were feeling upset instead of hiding their hurt until it overflowed.

Lastly, she’d suggested that they devise a signal to be a sort of tell. A tell that indicated when either one of them was spiraling – however small and effortless that signal might need to be – so the other could at least be aware. Shane had released the tension in his posture when finding out that Derek had been having a flashback. Though it was an uncontrollable response, the farmer still apologized many times to his boyfriend and promised he’d never do something like that if it hadn’t been for his brain’s trauma-induced hallucinations.

He’d like to think Shane believed him. The man _said_ he did. But Derek knew that no matter if it was beyond his control, the sour taste of the incident would remain. And that was something only time could wash away.

They’d only touched once on dissociation before the session had to come to a close and they’d bid farewell to Lisa. Next week seemed promising, Derek thought.

“I love you.” Shane’s voice nearly startled him from his thoughts. The farmer turned in his seat to scoot over closer, tentatively. Thankfully, the other man’s hands slid off the wheel and pulled Derek closer into an embrace.

“I love you, too,” Derek croaked, fisting the back of Shane’s shirt. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes were wet again but he couldn’t seem to care.

“I know,” came the deep whisper. “I know.” They both sat there for several minutes, collecting themselves and silently agreeing to put this morning behind them. There wasn’t much more they could do about it. It’d been talked out and dissected; Lisa had given them the supplies to sew themselves back up and try again. “Let’s get you some shirts before you steal all mine.”

And for the first time in what seemed like hours, Derek managed a small smile.

They’d be okay.

* * *

After their long day, both men slept on the farm in each other’s arms and let a night of sleep begin the mending. Friday arrived and Shane had to go back to the ranch fairly early; but not before Derek made them a laughable little breakfast of leftover pizza.

They’d agreed that they still wanted to go to their date later. And they’d even shared a kiss goodbye.

When it came time to go, Derek wore one of his new short-sleeved shirts. It was a shade of purple that reminded him of his favorite person’s hair, with black sleeves. He wore a light jacket over it – deciding last minute that having the option of long sleeves would be wise.

Derek arrived at the saloon earlier than Shane, so he sat at the table by the fireplace. The area where he’d first laid eyes on a scowling, rude alcoholic who turned out to have an absolute wealth of compassion and gentleness under all that itchy fabric. Now it was fondly dubbed _their_ table. Well, by them, at least. And Emily.

As if his thoughts were a summons, his favorite blue-head appeared beside him.

“Hey there, cutie,” she greeted with her usual friendly cheer. “Where’s your other half?”

Derek snorted. “On his way,” he confirmed. “Think you could go ahead and bring out a cola and a water?”

“You betcha!” she chirped. “Glad to see you coming out on Fridays again.” Her tone was softer and her eyes had grown a bit more serious.

The farmer grimaced slightly with a small shrug. “Probably not the brightest idea we’ve had, but... he’s really been, uh... tryin’ y’know?” Then, he narrowed his eyes at her slightly. “Don’t go repeatin’ that to him. He’d have my head if he knew I was talking ‘bout him.”

Emily made a soft _‘pfft’_ sound with her lips. “Oh, I know how he is. You forgetting that it was yours truly who chatted him up nearly every night?” she teased with a small smirk.

Derek chuckled before a thought crossed his mind and fell privy to that large mouth of his. “Chatting him up, huh? You use to have a thing for him?” His face immediately flushed and his eyes squeezed shut almost comically. “Er- I mean-“

But the bartender just giggled sweetly and flapped her hand at him. “No, no, it’s a question I used to get a lot, actually.” Her mouth twisted to the side, thoughtfully. “Honestly, I probably would have...”

Despite himself: “Except...?”

She snickered. “Except he’s _male.”_

Oh. Derek felt his cheeks heating up again, feeling like he’d pried the information out of her. But she took his embarrassment in stride with another one of those giggles before promising she’d be back soon with the drinks, winking at him, and sauntering off.

With no other noise to distract him, the sounds of the rest of the bar filtered over. Derek pulled out his phone and kept his ears pricked for the sound of the door. What he caught instead made his brow furrow into the bright screen in front of him, thumb pausing mid-scroll.

“-got back from rehab or something, probably. You know, Sam told Abigail who told Pierre who told _me_ that he quit JojaMart.” Derek had only heard that voice a handful of times and he couldn’t quite place it. It was definitely an older woman. Obviously not Jodi, not Pam, not Marnie. “I mean the place is evil, don’t get me wrong. Just ask my husband.” _Caroline,_ he realized bitterly. What business was it of hers to spread Shane’s? And incorrectly, too.

_‘Maybe some of ‘em think you went to AA’_

His own words from a little over a month ago echoed in his head as the green-haired gossip rambled on. “Kind of irresponsible, if you ask me.” _Funny, I don’t recall anyone fuckin’ asking you._ Derek didn’t realize he’d been gripping his phone tighter until his rigid index finger accidentally pressed the lock button and the screen went black. He flicked it back on again, not wanting to give off any impression that he could pick out their words. His anger combined with a burning curiosity concerning how deep the assumptions about his boyfriend ran. “But maybe it’ll stop him from buying all that beer.” The small giggle that accompanied her ignorant words told she was tipsy, at the least. Bit fucking hypocritical.

“ _Caroline!”_ another voice said with an amused gasp. _That_ was Jodi. For all the hospitality and mothering she was capable of, Derek had quickly learned she was also capable of being quite vindictive. It saddened him. From the day he met her and she’d fed him without question, his mind had secretly marked her as something like a step-parent, almost. Which meant his stupid mind ate up her brand of approval. Approval that she didn’t have stockpiled for Shane, evidently. Not that he’d genuinely base his affections off it; but it was still oddly painful. “You’re so _mean,”_ she playfully chastised. As if beating a man who was trying his best to get back on his feet were a goddamn _joke._ As if criticizing a life decision that kept him from another visit to the cliffs was a _punchline._

But they didn’t know about Shane’s attempt. No one did – except him and Marnie. Not even Jas knew the extent of it, thankfully. Though, Jas didn’t use her lack of knowledge to judge her father like everyone else did. She took him in fully and honestly – through the sober lens of an innocent child. And, unlike the foggy vision of the loudest whisperers, her view actually _saw_ Shane for the beauty of a soul that he was.

It killed Derek that no one knew how serious it had been that day. It was so utterly unfair that Shane just had to take their assumptions. He just had to put up with the ugly, deformed portraits they painted of him because it had never crossed their minds to ask for a reference photo. And it was horrible and selfish and _fucked up,_ he knew – but sometimes... _sometimes_ he just wanted to scream it all out. To watch everyone’s faces morph into shock, then horror, then guilt.

But he’d thought that when Alex had said all that shit while Shane was at ZBC, hadn’t he? Why did it keep popping into his mind? He’d never do that to Shane, so why did his brain keep trying to drag the fantasy up?

“I’m just telling the truth!” Caroline’s voice shattered his thoughts. If truth smelled and looked like bullshit, sure. She was spewing pure facts, then. Where the hell _was_ Shane, anyway? It had been nearly twenty minutes since he’d arrived and still no sign of his chicken boy. Then again, he desperately hoped the unashamedly loud conversation between Pelican Town’s most presumptuous moms would die out before his boyfriend arrived. Or before he snapped. Because Derek realized with a slow dread that he was _dangerously_ close to snapping. And he honestly couldn’t say what would happen if he did.

“-ek’s right there!” Jodi’s whisper was quiet enough that his ears only caught the tail-end of it. But it didn’t take a genius to piece together.

The green-haired woman clicked her tongue with a sigh. “Oh, he’s such a sweet boy.” She tried to pitch her voice lower but the alcohol in her system wasn’t doing her any favors. “Was hoping for a while that maybe he and Abigail...” _Okay, gross,_ he scrunched his nose involuntarily. What was funnier was knowing the purple-haired girl would be doing the exact same. “Yoba knows _why_ he...”

 _Oh, I dare you,_ Derek growled internally. _I dare you to fucking say it._

“Vincent told me they got into a fist fight in the middle of town back in spring,” Jodi recalled. The farmer found himself oddly smiling at the memory. What no one knew was that when he’d had Shane pinned underneath him, fist full of ugly JojaMart uniform, and other fist prepared to land, his heart had skipped a beat. He hadn’t had a chance to analyze that at the time because Penny had sliced through their scuffle. But now he saw that moment for what it was and it made the whole incident just... funny in retrospect. “Bit of a red flag, isn’t it?”

And the delicacy of that question held _so_ many implications. His phone was held in a vice-like grip now, rage emerging from the pool of anger that had been bubbling.

“Oh, I hadn’t remembered that,” Pierre’s wife said in that annoyingly thoughtful tone. Which was a bit oxymoronic for her. Then, she gasped and the edges of Derek’s vision tinged red. “You don’t think... I mean he comes over to your house for your son’s band, right?” Even though she’d finally managed to gain control over her volume, the fury in his brain seemed to amplify his senses like a feral animal. “Does he ever... like do you ever see any...” And she whispered the next word but she could’ve _thought_ it in her arrogant, lime head and the farmer still would’ve heard: _“marks-“_

And... he snapped.

Derek was out of the booth and mere feet from the contemptuous pair before he could even blink. Jodi’s back was to him but when Caroline’s eyes shot wide open, another pair of shocked and almost fearful eyes turned to face him.

“Do you have any idea how fuckin’ _loud_ you are?!” His voice was already at a yell and an instant hush fell over the saloon but red was clouding his vision and filling their silence with its own violent rush in his ears. “Or how fuckin’ _wrong_ you are?”

“Derek-“ a voice called nearby. Sounded like Emily but it was distorted. In fact, all of his senses were.

Crimson waves drowned everything. _“No!”_ he yelled back blindly, eyes still fixated on the two genuinely horrified women in front of him. But this was bigger than just Jodi and Caroline, wasn’t it? There were plenty of other people who were doing this same damn thing, just not tonight. But the beauty of tonight was that it was _Friday_ night. And as his gaze tore from the pair at the bar to shower the rest of his townspeople in a shimmering, fiery sheen, he realized that he was actually talking to a _lot_ more than two women. He couldn’t quite make out all of them behind the veil of his anger; but he didn’t need to.

Because the sheer amount of faces he could picture dropping Shane’s name with matching sneers made his voice get even louder. _“No!”_ he repeated. “Because this whole town has _no goddamn clue_ what they’re talking about!” Derek’s eyes made their way over to the pool room, where his band mates stood – all three of them. They were _smiling? Focus,_ the rage commanded. His gaze snapped away from the trio. “You all have the _nerve-_ the fucking **_audacity_** _-_ to make lies and talk shit about a man that almost _every single one of you left to **rot at that table EVERY. FUCKING. DAY!** ” _He was screaming now, fists balled and he could imagine his face was probably matching his hair by now.

But you could’ve heard a damn _pin_ drop in that bar.

“Shane Robinson has more _courage..._ and _kindness_ and _fucking **soul**_ in his goddamn _thumb_ than half of you do in your whole bodies!” Then, he turned back to Caroline and Jodi because he actually _did_ need to address the thing that’d sent him over the edge in the first place. **_“And how fucking dare you think for a SECOND that he would lay a hand on me!”_**

 _“Derek!”_ Again, familiar voice but heavily distorted.

 ** _“No!”_** he repeated for a third time, facing everyone blindly once again. Warmth trailed down his cheeks and he was dimly aware that there might be tears streaming down his face. When was the last time he got this angry? _Focus,_ red growled. _“Shane loves me more than anyone ever has! A-and I’ll never love anyone more than I love him a-and you all don’t know **shit** ‘bout what he’s been through.” _Derek’s chest burned as his lungs demanded air before he resumed pummeling his vocal cords. It was almost a wonder no one had stopped him by now. Not that they hadn’t tried to. But maybe there were more people than he’d thought that agreed the town needed to hear this, too. _“But it’s not my story to tell and it’s **certainly** not any of yours to fuckin’ make up and spread around! If you think this shit’s a fucking **game** -“_

And then, someone _was_ stopping him. Arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning his own to his sides. Confused, he thrashed a bit and the red fog cleared up enough to see Harvey’s face swimming before him as the man put his hands on his shoulders and gave them a soft squeeze. But that didn’t explain who was holding him like a human _straight jacket._

“Derek,” Harvey’s voice said low, soothing. “We’re gonna take you outside, okay? Get you some fresh air. You’re going to pass out if you keep going.” _Who’s ‘we’?_ he thought wildly, still thrashing against the arms around him.

“Fuck, Red, quit squirmin’. Like wrangling a damn bull.” He knew that voice. Still slightly distorted but no one else called him that. Instantly, all of the fight left him and he sank back into the large arms whose every muscle squeezed his parasympathetic nervous system into high gear, slowing his heart rate and making exhaustion hit him like a truck. “That’s it,” Shane’s breath cascaded across his ear. Another breeze of it sent goosebumps across his neck as his boyfriend sighed into the crook of it. “C’mon... let’s get you outta here.”

And Shane’s grasp loosened regrettably, one arm staying around Derek’s waist as the other one trailed down his arm to link their left hands together. With Harvey on his other side, the farmer was led across the still stunned saloon. He ran a clammy hand through his hair and closed his eyes briefly, soaking in only the sensations of his surroundings that he wanted to – Shane’s firm grip, Shane’s heat that rolled off him, Shane’s attempts at calmer breathing, Shane’s perpetually loud footsteps.

And then there was a small squeak of a door and cool fall night air hit his face and dusted off any lingering red. He was led down the front steps before Harvey was in front of him again, eyes gently scanning his face with concern before he nodded and squeezed his shoulder again.

“Good. That’s better. You don’t seem seconds from an aneurysm anymore.” Derek would’ve thought it were a joke had it not been for that piercing stare that only doctors and mothers can give. “I’ll leave you two be.” Finally, those eyes were off him as they flicked to the man beside him. “Don’t let him rile himself up again, alright? Yoba knows his brain probably can’t handle any more stress right now,” he muttered.

Shane grunted and Harvey took that as agreement as he shot Derek one last worried look before going back into the bar. The arm around his waist turned him to face green eyes as the hand that had been holding his rose to cup a cheek instead. The farmer leaned tiredly into that palm.

“Let’s, uh... let’s get you home...” But home was very, _very_ far. And the cool grass was so close. Maybe Shane would lay with him in it.

“Tired,” he croaked. His throat ached in protest and he winced, which didn’t go unnoticed by the violet-haired man in front of him who let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. The warmth the sound brought almost made him fall asleep right there on his feet.

“Yeah, your voice is gonna be shot ‘til tomorrow, probably,” Shane mumbled with a small hum. “But come on, you’ve gotta rest.” Begrudgingly, he let the arm around his waist direct him forward and toward the long walk to the farm.

* * *

“Stay again.”

“Okay.”

Derek smiled faintly as he watched Shane strip down to his briefs – red this time – while very obviously fighting the impulse to cover his abdomen. The farmer lifted his arms in the air expectantly, which made his boyfriend snort.

“You’re a handful sometimes, you know that?” he teased softly. His fingers curled under the hem of Derek’s shirt and tugged it off.

The red-head shook his hair back into its relative place when the neck-hole ruffled it on the way up. “I warned you.” He sighed in resignation. “Warned you ‘n wha’d you go do? Fall for me like some _dumbass.”_ But he was giggling now and so was his counterpart.

“Yeah, well... couldn’t exactly help it. Not that I didn’t try...”

“Rude,” Derek scoffed with another giggle.

Shane was smiling fully now. “Besides, I can be a handful, too.”

The farmer let out an exaggerated groan. “Don’t I know it...” It earned him a semi-serious glare. “Take me to bed,” he insisted, holding both of his hands out to Shane.

“No riling you up; doctor’s orders.”

“Shuddup, perv. I meant _hold_ me.”

“Man, how can I resist when you sweet talk me like that?”

_“Shaaane.”_

His partner rolled his eyes before climbing into Derek’s bed and underneath the covers. “C’mere you big baby.” The blanket was lifted slightly; an invitation that would only ever have a ‘yes’ option in the farmer’s eyes.

So he slid right in, laying on his side to face Shane, whose arms immediately enveloped him like the exhaustion simultaneously did. Before he let sleep take him, though, he surged upward slightly to connect those soft, pink lips with his own. Shane’s mouth was always so sweet and the kiss deepened slightly for just a moment until it was over.

With a content sigh, Derek sank further down to burrow against the warm, fuzzy chest before him. He’d actually been wanting to do this forever and was almost pissed he hadn’t done it sooner because, _wow,_ if the broad plane of Shane’s upper body wasn’t the most comfortable damn spot.

“G’nigh...” Derek trailed off with a soft hum that bled into his next words. “m’love you.”

The arms around him hugged before relaxing into a gentle embrace.

“Love you, too, you beautiful _fuckin’_ idiot,” Shane whispered fiercely with a voice caked in emotion.

And Derek knew they’d have a lot to talk about come morning. But morning was very far away and as sleep took him, all he could bear to give a shit about was how that was the first time Shane had called him beautiful.

And he kind of freakin’ loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha.... I'm SOFT..


	31. Uncover Your Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god hi! Hello, okay - so! I haven't updated in 4 months and I'm SORRY; I genuinely did not expect my hiatus to last so long. But... if you've ever seen one of those home makeover shows where they let a wrecking ball just go absolutely ham before rebuilding from scratch... then you have a pretty good mental image of what my life has been like over these last few months lmao.
> 
> Regardless, I always intended to finish this story (especially after the wealth of lovely feedback so many kind souls have been leaving - I adore each and every one of you) and I promise that it will see its ending AND an epilogue. In terms of HOW many more chapters long this'll be, I've no firm clue. I only have a loose outline of events I want to happen and there are still solid plot points unfolding and background character arcs that are very much still progressing. My best guess is maybe around 50? We shall see.
> 
> Long rambling aside, it's really really good to be back and I'm so beyond excited to write and share the rest of this tale (which my poor laptop takes at least 3 minutes to load in Microsoft Word at this point) with y'all!
> 
> Thank you again. For everything. <3

When the KOZU 5 channel announced that this weekend and the beginning of next week were going to be the last warm days for fall, Jas declared that she _had_ to take advantage of summer’s dissipating hold on the valley with a day-trip to the beach. Naturally, she’d also begged her dad to ask the farmer up north if he’d accompany them. A request that said dad simply couldn’t ignore.

So at eleven in the morning on the Sunday after their date, Derek and Shane were headed out the ranch door with Jas in tow. Still not having a swim suit, the red-head was borrowing a pair of black trunks and had two adult-sized beach chairs under his arm. His boyfriend was clad in the familiar blue ones that he’d worn to the bathhouse and was also carrying a large beach bag over his shoulder which overflowed with colorful, plastic toys. Meanwhile, the kid carried her own purple children’s folding chair as she bounced happily in her matching one-piece.

“Oh shi- shoot!” Shane hissed, barely catching his curse. His large hand raced into his hair as he stopped and turned back to the ranch. “I forgot the sun screen,” he mumbled.

“I’ll get it,” Derek offered with a small smile. “Go on without me, I’ll catch up.”

Shane’s mouth twisted in embarrassment. “You sure?”

“I’m fetchin’ sun screen, not givin’ you a piece of my liver,” the farmer joked with an eye roll. He pointed over Shane’s shoulder. “Now, go before she runs off without you.” Sure enough, when he turned around, he saw Jas’s small form reaching the edge of the woods as she bounded into town.

Shane cursed and called out her name, jogging after her with Derek’s amused chuckle floating in his wake.

His left knee instantly began protesting as he picked up his pace, finally feeling his sandals hit cobblestone as the heavy bag swung wildly.

“Jas!” He called out breathlessly. A small cry shot through the air that only the heightened senses of a frantic parent could catch. Suddenly, any amount of physical anguish his old joints might be in was shoved to the back burner of his mind as he forced his legs to carry him to the source of the noise.

A mixture of fear and concern jolted through him as he spotted his daughter sitting on the ground, clutching her knee with her folded chair askew across the stones. Anger joined the party when he spotted a brunette looming over her.

Alex’s head turned at the sound of Shane’s rapidly approaching footsteps and the jock held his hands up, eyes wide.

“I- I just saw her fall, man. I was just headed to the beach to meet Haley and she was running and... guess she tripped... I was about to ask-“

 _“Dad!”_ Jas cried. “Is it bleeding?” Her eyes were squeezed shut as she clamped both of her small hands over the wound, too afraid to peek for herself. Shane shot Alex a glare; but the green swim trunks the man wore solidified his alibi for now. He dropped the bag to the ground and knelt beside his little girl, pulling her into his lap and mumbling softly in her ear.

“You don’t gotta look, but you gotta move your fingers, okay?” Gently prying them away, his mouth tilted down in disdain at the nasty-looking gash that the rocks had etched into her skin. “It’s not too bad but we have to clean it,” Shane announced, digging in the beach bag momentarily before withdrawing a mini first-aid kit. He pulled out some alcohol wipes and one of her favorite princess band-aids from the container. She heard the tear of the wipe’s packaging and immediately began whimpering in fear again. “Shh, shh,” he cooed. “It’ll sting for a moment but it’ll make you feel better. You trust me?” His thumb swiped away the tears crawling down her cheeks and she nodded quietly, lips quivering. Shane gently cleaned the skinned knee and called her a big girl when she managed not to cry out. After applying the bandage, she opened her eyes and sniffled, poking gently at the material and nodding.

“Th-thanks, it doesn’t even hurt bad anymore!” Shane marveled for perhaps the millionth time at her boundless energy as she sprung up and picked up her chair to continue to the beach. “Let’s go before it gets dark!”

Shane chuckled. “Slow down, kiddo. Still got plenty of more hours ‘til that happens.”

“You’re uh... you’re really good with her, man.” Right, the jock. He’d almost completely forgotten about the athlete’s presence. Evidently so had Jas, as she immediately latched onto the index and middle finger of Shane’s hand and pressed herself against his leg. Also, what the fuck was he meant to say to that? “A-and I’ve been meaning to say... that I’m uh...” Alex scratched at his chest idly, avoiding eye contact like a kid at the principal’s office. “Granny says the best way to apologize is to be”—the man let out an abrupt, embarrassed sigh—”open and honest or whatever...” Shane fought an eye roll. He had to behave in front of Jas. “So, look, I’m sorry. I said a bunch of crap and it wasn’t cool.”

It seemed as if Shane’s mouth couldn’t help itself, though. “Your grandmother had to teach you how to apologize?”

Alex set his jaw but his eyes carried a genuine remorse that threw Shane completely off guard. “Look, dude... I-“ A hand sifted through brown hair; a practiced move that seemed to falter in its usual cadence – another tell that the man seemed to be out of his comfort zone. But Shane bitterly supposed that any form of human decency was likely out of Alex’s comfort zone. “I heard about the saloon thing the other day,” he explained before quickly adding: “I... wasn’t there or anything. Just... you know how the town talks.”

And Shane would rather be digging glass shards from his palms than be standing here having this conversation with an egotistical hot-head but Jas was still cowering against his leg. She needed a role model of sorts and it was about time Shane had started acting like one.

“Right. Okay.” It was the best he could offer.

As he and Jas finally made their way to the beach, Derek caught up with them and met Shane’s general confusion around the interaction with a soft smile. The farmer looped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist as Jas ran off to find a clear spot on the beach for their belongings. And when Shane’s brain couldn’t fathom what on earth had gotten into Pelican Town’s resident golden boy, Derek simply said:

“’Bout time they started openin’ their eyes, eh?”

* * *

The next morning, Shane was up bright and early in the chicken coop. His secret project had finally developed into a fruitful operation – conveniently in conjunction with his first day working with Derek under the clauses of their fresh contract. Using a wide paintbrush, he used red-dipped bristles to paint “Fresh Eggs” across a white banner he’d hung high across one wall of the coop.

Stepping off his stool with a grunt, a small smile crept onto his face as his eyes roved the banner. Then, he turned around to survey the actual main attraction – his bright blue chickens. The eight that he currently had were a mix of full-grown birds and chicks happily clucking about as they preened each other or settled into carefully kept nests for a light doze.

A familiar brand of clucks stole his attention as the only chicken with feathers of a normal hue pranced up to him expectantly. Shane chuckled as Charlie pecked at his laces, begging to be held. He obliged, of course, cradling her in his arms and finding the same comfort he’d always found in her expressive, black eyes.

“It sure hasn’t been easy, has it, girl?” His voice was kept as soft as the strokes he delivered to her head. Her eyes lidded as she nestled contently into his embrace. “We’ve been through hell and back but I...” He paused with a thoughtful scritch along her back. “I think I’m finally beginnin’ to see some sorta... light or whatever at the end of it all.” Normally, he would be embarrassed whenever he divulged in the peculiar urge to talk to his favorite chicken as if she could give feedback. But today was a good day, so maybe he’d go easy on himself for right now. “At least... I see _somethin’_ worth sticking around for. That’s what matters, right?”

Just then, the familiar creak of the coop door being swung open resonated off the walls. A sharp cough of embarrassment erupted from Shane and he brought a fist to his mouth in an attempt to play it off.

“Okay, open them!” Jas’s sweet voice chirped to a smiling farmer who had his closed eyes covered with the hand that wasn’t gripping her smaller one. At her instruction, he lowered his hand and blue irises put Shane directly in their spotlights. He took a breath and smiled back at Derek, who had begun analyzing the full scene around him and with a shocked gasp:

“What in the world- is she _blue?”_

Shane carefully put Charlie down to pick up one of his blue hens, nodding proudly. “Yup. This is a little... somethin’ I’ve been workin’ on for a while now.” As he spoke, he unconsciously ran his fingertips through the soft cerulean feathers. “Took a lot of time and patience and research but... I managed to manipulate a harmless recessive gene that affects the color of their feathers a-and then...” Heat rose into his cheeks as he realized he was rambling and probably over-explaining and _no one asked for the entire monologue,_ _Shane._ But:

“And then...?” Derek urged. Green eyes flicked up from the depths of his negative thoughts to see genuine awe on his boyfriend’s face. The corner of Shane’s mouth lilted upwards of its own accord and he awkwardly bumbled on.

“A-and so then I just kept breeding the chickens with that specific, um... y’know... gene or whatever,” He sounded like the lamest science textbook in Gunther’s library but his excitement slowly began overshadowing the anxiety. “Until _normal_ coloring became the less dominant outcome. Actually, in the latest batch of chicks, one of ‘em has absolutely zero percent chance of taking on that gene. The only side effect I’ve noticed is that they tend to need more socialization than the average chicken.”

During his spiel, Derek’s face radiated amazement and it seemed to take him a moment to get his mouth to convey the contents of his mind.

“Holy _shit,_ when were you gonna tell me you’re a fuckin’ genius?”

“Hey!” Jas shook the hand of his she was holding while giving him a stern look. “That’s two potty words, mister.”

“Right. Sorry, kiddo. Forgive me?”

She nodded curtly. “Just don’t let it happen again.” Shane pulled his lips inward to bite back a snicker at how adorably sassy she was becoming. With Derek thoroughly chastised, he carried on and avoided outwardly accepting the farmer’s compliment by revealing the whole point of this ‘show-and-tell’.

“I’m givin’ the chickens to Jas... she’s always wanted to work with ‘em and I figured I’d teach her everything I know. But uh...” Shane swapped the full-grown, blue chicken in his arms for two baby ones he spotted. “But I wanted to gift a couple of ‘em to you- well, t-to us, I guess? To the farm. Like an investment,” he stammered, extending the chicks out.

“Really?” Derek’s voice came out as an excited squeak as he graciously cradled the offered animals in his palms.

The violet-haired man let out a soft chuckle. “If you want my silly blue chickens, that is.”

“Of course I want your silly blue chickens. I want all your silly blue chickens.”

Shane whistled jokingly. “Whew, slow your roll, farmer.” He jerked his head towards Jas. “Young ears in the room.”

“Oh hush before young eyes watch my foot go up your a-“ Jas fired off another warning glance and Derek caught himself last second. This time, Shane couldn’t bite back the giggle. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Robinson.”

The giggle turned into an amused cackle as he parroted back: “’ _Robins-‘”_

“I’m taking our new chicks up to the farm. Meet us when catch your breath.” Derek puffed his chest indignantly but the playful twinkle in his eyes gave away the dramatic charade as he kissed Jas goodbye on the top of her head and marched out of the coop with ‘their’ chickens. Meanwhile, Jas’s eyes were trained on Shane as she gave him her most devilish smirk.

“Wha’?”

“Thought you were ‘pposed to get married before having kids,” she giggled.

* * *

The first day working together on the farm ended up being more eventful than Shane had anticipated. With the fall fair right around the corner, Derek’s stress over which crops to save for the display began to slowly mount. When lunchtime rolled around, Shane discovered that stress apparently did not give a rat’s ass about petulant human needs like _hunger_ or _thirst,_ as the red-head’s plate of food was left untouched in favor of perhaps a dozen different sheets of loose-leaf paper depicting hastily made lists of eligible crops, scrawled drawings of display arrangements (some of which were very aggressively crossed out), and even a few calculations that Shane couldn’t remotely begin to make sense of.

“Okay, Red, that’s it,” he sighed, confiscating the pencil that had been scribbling wildly in Derek’s clenched fist. A wild gaze tore from the beginnings of what was likely the millionth variation of the same display arrangement and locked onto Shane.

“Wha- no, hey! Give that back!” his boyfriend half-whined, half-demanded. He made a lunge for the utensil and Shane gave him an _‘are you serious right now?’_ look as he further lifted it from his reach.

“Hey! How about maybe after you _eat,_ huh?” The incredulous tone sobered the red-head slightly and he sat back with an annoyed huff.

“This is _important,_ Shane.”

“So’s eating,” he countered, biting into his own sandwich.

“Eating happens multiple times a day. Your first fall fair happens once in a lifetime.”

Shane scoffed in amusement. “I’m gonna buy you a bib and highchair if you keep fussin’.”

“One: You sound like Marnie,” Derek snarked back. “Two: I’m serious! You don’t _get_ it. If my grange display isn’t up to par... if- if I don’t... then-“

“Then _what?_ ”

“Then everyone in town will know I’m a fucking failure!” As soon as he blurted it out, his fists began tangling themselves home in his curls and Shane swallowed thickly, setting the rest of his sandwich down.

“Why do you _talk_ to yourself like that?” As if he wasn’t notorious for the same thought patterns. But regardless, this type of stuff was what they were trying to help and heal from, right? “You’re the furthest person I know from a failure, you kiddin’ me? You took on this farm when it looked more like the aftermath of a hurricane than a plot of land and you... completely transformed it. _By your fuckin’ self._ How could you possibly look out your front door and see _failure?”_ Shane’s voice was gentle, almost pleading at this point.

Derek looked up at him again, tears of frustration trailing idly down his reddened cheeks. “Because every time I look in the goddamn _mirror,_ I see failure,” he choked out through gritted teeth.

As the words hit him, Shane got that damn feeling once again. The feeling that, in this moment, it was actually _him_ that was looking in a mirror. And if he were honest, this mirror was becoming increasingly frustrating. Because deep down, Shane knew that he couldn’t pretend his boyfriend was any more deserving to break free from this cycle of self-deprecation than he was. At some point, he had to face the fact that what was true about Derek’s inability to see his successes was true for himself, as well.

“I get it, I do,” he replied hoarsely. Clearing his throat, he tried to string a few sentences together as best he could. “I mean, we are kinda alike in that way, huh? But... but we can’t keep tellin’ each other how amazing or... or worthy or whatever the other is and then tell ourselves the exact opposite.”

Immediately, his boyfriend’s facial expression softened and his brow furrowed; processing. His hands dropped from his hair, leaving tufts of it comically sticking out waywardly. Shane couldn’t help but find it kind of adorable. “Fuck...” the other man finally sighed out. “So what you’re saying is-“

“What if we just... treat ourselves the same we do each other.” Then, he scrunched his nose in embarrassment. “Wait, that came out weird... I mean-“

But Derek closed the space between them to cup Shane’s cheeks, shaking his head with still-wet, ice-blue eyes zeroed in on him like a pair of homing missiles. “No, no. You’re exactly right, actually.” A nervous tongue swiped moisture into a pair of pink lips and Shane’s eyes shamelessly trailed their path before locking their gazes again. “You really are a goddamn _genius.”_

This time, instead of glossing over the repeated affirmation, Shane forced himself to nod. Taking a shaky breath, he whispered: “Okay. But that means you are, too.”

Derek parroted the nod; firm, resolute. “Okay.” His hands then parted from Shane’s face, thumbs giving an affection swipe over stubbly cheekbones before withdrawing into his lap.

The silence between them, then, became thick – but not in the same way humidity weighs in the air after a rainstorm; more so in the way a chick must quietly adjust to its new coop or the way a scientist must figure out how to integrate his newest breakthrough.

“I’m gonna say somethin’ and it might sound absolutely fuckin’ _bonkers,”_ Derek began hesitantly, slicing through the delicate contemplation. “But sometimes... sometimes I... I look at you and I feel... I feel like I’m-“

“Starin’ at your own damn reflection?” Shane finished with a dry huff that toyed the line of amusement and exhaustion.

Derek’s eyes widened as he nodded slowly. “Like I’m uncovering it for the first time in my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a. that semi-obligatory chapter that contains the title of the fic itself
> 
> and a sprinkle of redemption for you Alex lovers


End file.
